


I'm Golden, But Baby I'd be Silver for You

by ThatWouldBee_Enough



Series: Bendy Boys [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gymnastics, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, gymnastics AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWouldBee_Enough/pseuds/ThatWouldBee_Enough
Summary: Gymnastics AU anyone?John is the number one gymnast at his facility, a hopeful for the national team, and the all around golden boy.Alex is a newcomer to the gym who flips his whole world upside down.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Bendy Boys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181057
Comments: 128
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

John has been training his whole life for this. Endless, exhausting days in the gym bleeding into nights, countless conditioning routines, a strict diet to keep his body in impeccable shape. He can’t even remember the last time he had a slice of a pizza. His life isn't _normal_ , but it's good, and he wouldn't trade it. There's nothing quite like the thrill of standing on a podium, weight of a gold medal around his neck while everyone looks on with pride. His dad comes to every meet. Debriefs with him after, win or lose, and goes over each area of possible improvement. Keeps a detailed chart of his weight to ensure he’s not slipping. Has a white board with a count of how many days since his last win in the kitchen. 

He wins more often than not, but still, every loss is like a punch to the gut. 

So, when he sees the new boy stroll in, half of the day already gone as he steps onto the mat, John isn’t threatened in the least. 

Catching his breath after dropping down from the bar, he goes to get a drink. Leans back against the wall of the gym and downs half his water bottle. Lets his eyes scan the gym. They fall on the new boy. Of course they do, John tells himself. It’s only natural to want to compare him to everyone else. To see what he can do. It has nothing to do with the lean lines of his body, or large, dark eyes that survey the other gymnasts with a haughty sort of smugness, confidence exuding from each step he takes. It obviously has nothing to do with any of that.

John watches as he comes to stand in the corner of the mat, takes a deep breath that lifts his shoulders back slightly, a running start, and then flawlessly executes a complex tumbling pass that even his own father couldn't find fault with. John feels his lips part in surprise, in awe. As the boy goes to do another pass, it seems as if the entire gym is watching. 

John’s chest burns with jealousy at the relative ease in his posture as he steps off the floor. And certainly with nothing _else_. 

After picking his jaw up off the floor, John heads over to where the new boy is stretching out at the other side of the gym. His father raised him to be polite after all, welcoming, and he’s not about to forget his manners just because the boy has a bit of talent. It's not like he's _intimidated_ or anything.

“Hey,” John says, coming to stand next to him. The boy has one leg up against the wall, leaning his weight into the stretch. John's eyes drift to his bare calf, and he has the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and touch the tight muscle there. He _doesn't_ of course. He can feel the weight of eyes on the two of them, other members of the gym waiting to see how the interaction will go. John is aware of the influence he has here. He’s their star member. Bound for the national team. Everyone here will follow the example he sets. It’s a role he takes very seriously. “I’m John Laurens. Pleasure to meet you.”

The boy’s eyes drift towards him, linger on his bare chest in a way that is entirely too obvious. John's throat goes dry, and when he swallows it feels rough, and he can never remember _swallowing_ being such a problem before. The boy drops his leg and turns to face him with a grin. “I know who you are. Seen you at competitions on TV.” He offers a hand. “I'm Alex. Alex Hamilton.”

John feels a prick of self consciousness. He’s sweaty from his own day at the gym, already hours into his training at this point. But he’s not going to be _rude_. He wipes his hand on his shorts before clasping Alex’s. His grip is warm, surprisingly strong, and there’s a certain spark in those dark brown eyes that make John’s stomach flip. 

“You been coming here long then?” Alex asks as he stretches out his back, the motion pushing his bare chest out and more prominently on display. 

It takes John half a second too long to answer. “Uh, my whole life, pretty much. What about you? What gym were you at before this?”

Alex cocks one infuriating eyebrow. “I wasn’t.”

John can’t school his expression in time to hide his confusion. “What do you mean, _you weren’t_? You had to be _somewhere_.”

Alex just shrugs, smug self confidence in every line of his toned, slim body. “I was involved with a team at my high school. My foster parents didn’t have the money or the desire to send me to a professional gym, so I applied for a scholarship here. Heard the program is pretty good at churning out Olympic hopefuls and figured I’d take a shot at it.”

John feels the corner of his lips pull down tight. You don’t _take a shot_ at getting to the Olympics after not training seriously every day of your life. And there’s no way this boy was training seriously on some high school team– public school from the sound of it. 

John knows the kind of discipline this takes. He’s been building it since he was a toddler. 

“So,” Alex says, breaking the silence that had grown heavy and awkward between the two of them. “If you grew up in this area, you must know where I can find a good drink. I just moved this weekend, so I’m looking for recommendations.”

“You’re not old enough to drink.” There’s _no way_ this boy is twenty one. Even if he hadn’t just heard him talk about a foster family and training on a high school team– which must have been a _recent_ thing because there’s no way he’s been out of training for a few years– John would know. He looks far too young to be twenty-one. Definitely younger than _him_ at the very least. 

Alex just barks a laugh. “You’ve never used a fake? Oh god. What sort of goody two shoes world have I wandered into? Do you guys say prayers before meets too?”

John glances around, lowering his voice. “Look, you should watch what you say. If you’re _actually_ hoping to make the national team, you should know that the coaches won’t be happy if you’re going out drinking. Pretty sure breaking the law voids your scholarship too. They're not going to take a chance on someone they deem a risk.” 

Alex’s lips twist up into a furtive little smile. “Thanks for the tip, sweetheart. Can I trust you not to snitch then?" He has the gall to _wink_ at him, and John kind of wants to shove this boy back out the doors, out of his own world that had been running perfectly just yesterday. "Would hate to have gotten all the way down here just to fly back home with nothing to show for it, you know?”

John sighs. Secretly wonders if he’ll regret the next words that come out of his mouth. “Sure. You can count on me, Alex.”

* * *

Turns out Alex _is_ a serious competitor for a spot on the national team. 

He has a frustrating natural talent for the sport, and everyone at the gym seems to have taken notice. The head coach especially seems to adore him, paying their new star extra attention and offering tips and corrections that have him perfecting high level routines in record time. 

John tries not to let the fact that all that attention has been diverted from _him_ get to his head too much. After all, Alex is still new. Of course everyone is obsessing over him. He's like a shiny new toy. All it will take is one competition for everyone to remember why John is number one at the gym. 

His dad picks him up at the end of the day, his little brothers both already in the car. Jemmy’s excitedly relaying some new tricks he learned from the back seat. Their father interrupts his story as John hops into the front passenger seat, shoving his bag between his legs. “Your pommel horse routine needs some cleaning up, Jack. And the dismount was shaky.” He pulls out of the parking lot without glancing over at his eldest son. “After your chores, spend some time in the home gym going over it again.”

John grits his teeth and nods his heads. Resigns himself to another long night. 

* * *

Friday after practice, Alex comes up to him as he’s grabbing his gym bag. “Hey.” He sounds out of breath, his face flushed. “Meant to say earlier, your rings looked great. Gonna be killer at the meet in Boston.” He’s smiling, a pair of sweats tugged on, oversized hoodie hanging to one side of his shoulders, his hair loose, curling where it had been pulled up in a messy bun all day. There’s a light sheen of sweat still on his face, reflecting the overhead lights, almost _sparkling_. He looks _good_. 

John tries not to stare. He busies himself with putting his stuff away, pulling a t-shirt roughly over his head. “Thanks. I’ve won gold in rings at my last five competitions. Don’t plan on breaking that streak now.” He slings his bag over his shoulder. “My pommel horse still needs work before the meet though.” 

Alex shrugs, leaning back against the lockers. “Looked fine to me. Must be easier to do pommel horse with guns like those,” he jokes with a flirtatious lilt to his voice, tilting his head towards John’s biceps. He reaches out a hand, squeezes teasingly. John feels the heat rise to his face. 

Alex’s hand lingers a beat too long, and a crooked smile slips onto his face. His fingers trail lightly down John’s arm as he pulls away, something far too knowing in his gaze. “What you really need to work on,” he says, blinking up at John through lashes that are frustratingly full– thick and dark in a way that frames his eyes and makes him seem even younger than he is. “Is your vault.”

“My vault is _fine_.”

“Mine is better,” Alex tells him with a cocky grin. 

John, annoyingly, can’t deny that. And if he’s being honest with himself, Alex has a chance of beating him at floor as well. He’s sure he’ll still win the all-around, but his father won’t be happy if he doesn't take home the clean sweep. 

“We’ll see.”

“Ooh,” Alex teases with a smirk. Leans a little closer into his space. “So those nice southern manners _aren’t_ a permanent fixture in your personality. Good to know. Was worried you were a robot or something.”

John rolls his eyes, takes a step away, towards the door. 

Alex's fingers wrap around his wrist to stop him. They're warmer than John expected. Still a little dry from the chalk, and it feels familiar even as the situation itself is foreign in a way that sets his heart racing. “Hey,” he says, a little softer now. “I’m just joking, John.” 

John doesn’t turn back to look at him. 

“What are you doing tonight?”

“What do you mean?" he says, the words spilling in a rush. He can feel the nerves starting to buzz under his skin, and Alex's _hand_ is still on him. "I’m going home, getting some conditioning in, and going to bed. We have a meet next week.”

“Come out with me.” John does finally turn around now.

“Are you insane?”

Alex licks his lips, and John’s eyes trace the path of his tongue. There’s something damning in his eyes, something warm and sharp and promising that John can’t quite explain. He wishes he _could_ explain it. Maybe that would make it less terrifying. 

“You need to let loose. You’re gonna burn yourself out at this rate.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” John snaps. “Worry about yourself. Your rings are sloppy.”

“And you look like you’ve got a damn stick up your ass on floor.” 

_“Fuck you.”_

John's worried he may have gone too far, but Alex seems _delighted_ rather than offended. “If that’s what you want.” 

It takes John a moment to realize what he’s even _talking_ about. By the time he does, Alex is closing the gap between them, grabbing John by the back of his sweaty neck and pulling him down to press their lips firmly together. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” John manages to splutter after two seconds of shock. His lips tingle, like the ghost of Alex is still there, taunting him. He takes a step back, tripping over his own feet and falling against the lockers. It’s _loud_. Too loud. A moment later the door to the locker room opens, Coach Washington sticking his head inside.

“You boys okay in here?”

John burns. His face is impossibly hot, and his blood is boiling with frustration and confusion, and there’s a complicated feeling in his gut that he doesn’t want to think about too hard. “Yeah. Just tripped. We’re fine.”

He looks between the two of them, and John prays that he can't sense the weird, uncomfortable tension. That what just happened isn't written in the air between them. “Okay, good. I don’t need _either_ of you getting hurt before the meet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they both mutter. 

He nods, satisfied with the answer, and heads back out. 

“John–” Alex starts once the door is shut behind him, his brow drawn low. 

“I’ve got to go.” John adjusts the bag on his shoulder, crossing the locker room in a few quick strides. “My dad is waiting outside.”

As he lays in bed that night, he can’t get Alex’s lips, soft and warm and as demanding as every other facet of him, out of his head until he finally falls asleep. 

* * *

Most days, John is the first one at the gym. Leading up to meets, his dad drops him off at five in the morning, every morning. So John is surprised when he walks inside the double doors and spots a familiar figure halfway across the gym, stubbornly working through his routine on rings over and over and over again, cursing every so often when something doesn't go as well as he'd like.

John can already tell it’s significantly more polished than it was yesterday. He drops off his bag, changing quickly into his gym clothes and sets to stretching in the far corner, as far away from Alex as possible. If Alex is his biggest competition for this meet, then he’s already behind for the day. He doesn’t need any distractions. 

Except–

It’s really hard not to look at him when Alex is holding himself perfectly still upside down on the rings, arms tensed, his shorts riding up and baring the taut muscles of his thighs. 

John averts his gaze before Alex drops down with a huff, clearly frustrated as he breaks out of the handstand a little too soon. 

John lets his chest fall down towards the mat, feeling a light pull in his hamstrings. Closes his eyes and tries to visualize his floor routine. 

He startles when he hears a voice, too loud and too close, somewhere near his left shoulder. “You want help with that?”

Alex is standing over him, his cheeks already pink with exertion, a few loose strands of dark hair plastered to the side of his face. 

“You’ll get a deeper stretch if you have someone help you.” He takes a step behind John and drops to one knee. “Like this.” 

The moment Alex’s hand comes in contact with his back, John flinches away. It's a reflex to being touched by someone he barely knows, John assures himself. It has nothing to do with yesterday. “I don’t _need_ your help.” 

He can hear Alex stand back up. Heave a deep sigh. “Well fucking _excuse me_.” 

“Why are you even here?” John can’t help but ask, his voice coming out clipped and defensive. “It’s Saturday. And it’s ridiculously early.”

Alex sinks to the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged and contemplating John with raised brows. “Why are _you_ here?

“I always come in on Saturdays.”

“Well.” Alex shrugs simply. “So do I.” 

When John gives a look that’s half skeptical, half _would-you-just-go-the-fuck-away-already_ , Alex sighs, leans back on his palms. “Look, weekends used to be the only times I _could_ devote to training. Unlike some people, I didn’t homeschool so I could spend my entire childhood doing _this_.” He stares up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing. “You’ll forgive me if old habits die hard. I like practicing on the weekends. Sue me.”

“Thought you’d be out drinking or whatever,” John mutters. He sits up again, beginning to stretch one shoulder. 

“At five in the morning?”

John rolls his eyes. “No. I meant last night.”

“Oh.” Alex adjusts, spreads his legs and drops down to rest his elbows on the mat, chin propped in his hands. “Yeah, well, I did go out drinking.”

John breathes a little incredulous noise. Fucking unbelievable. 

“That was last night though," he explains with another easy shrug. "It’s not like I got wasted or anything. Just a little stress relief.” He inches down lower, and John’s eyes immediately dart to the space between his spread legs. “Speaking of last night– we gonna talk about what happened?”

John blushes furiously at the thought, angry at Alex for even bringing it up. “No, we are _not_ going to talk about it. Look, I don’t need you playing goddamn mind games or whatever. If you want to beat me, do it fair and square.”

Alex’s eyebrows jump high on his forehead, and he breathes a soft laugh, like John’s just said the funniest damn thing. It's aggravating in a way John can't quite pinpoint. “Alright, John.” He straightens up, arches his back like a cat for a moment before climbing to his feet again. “If that’s what you want.”

It only strikes John as he’s walking away that it’s the same damn line Alex used last night in the locker room. Bastard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got an idea last night and my brain wouldn't shut up about it
> 
> Leave some comments below if you're liking so far ❤️ It's going to be a pretty short piece overall, so shouldn't be more than a few chapters total
> 
> I'm over on tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough -- come chat with me!


	2. Chapter 2

John doesn’t realize until they arrive at the hotel in Boston that he’s been assigned to share a room with Alex.

He pulls Coach Washington aside as everyone loiters in the lobby. He _can’t_ room with Alex. Not after all of his games. The fucking _locker room_. The way John’s skin heats up uncomfortably whenever he’s too close. “Is it possible to switch rooms, sir? _Please?_ ”

He gives John an entirely unimpressed look. “Laurens, it’s his first meet with our gym. I put him with you _specifically_ because I knew you could look out for him. You know the expectations. You can help him out. Was I wrong to trust you with that responsibility?” 

John swallows down his groan of protest. As if he can argue with _that_. “No, sir.” 

“Good.” He considers John for a moment, his stern gaze feeling heavier than usual. “This isn’t a punishment, Laurens. The boy is _good_ , but he needs direction. Someone to keep him focused. And _you_ need someone to challenge you so you don’t plateau. His presence here is only going to make you a stronger gymnast.” 

John can’t exactly tell Washington how the biggest _challenge_ Alex poses is the memory of his goddamn lips getting stuck on loop in his brain. 

When they make it up to the room, Alex barrels past him, hoists his suitcase up on the bed closer to the window, falling back onto the mattress with a contented sigh. “If a murderer shows up in the middle of the night, they’re more likely to kill whoever’s closest to the door,” he explains without sitting up. 

“Gee thanks,” John deadpans, kicking off his shoes and lying back on the other bed. They had woken up early for the flight, but they still have a little while until everyone’s expected to meet down in the lobby to go get lunch. John sets his alarm and drops his phone onto the nightstand between the two beds. He should have enough time for a quick nap. 

He’s only just settled into the mountain of pillows when Alex flips on the TV, the obnoxious laugh track of some sitcom breaking through the silence.

John blinks one eye open and glares. “Hey, I'm _trying_ to sleep.”

“I really don’t see how that’s _my_ problem.” 

John groans. Pulls another one of the pillows on top of his head and presses it down to try to block out the noise. It doesn’t help much, and he feels more than a little ridiculous, so he sits up and chucks it across the room at Alex’s head instead. “Can you not be a nightmare? For just a couple of days?”

Alex scoffs. Chucks the pillow back across the room, hitting John squarely on the side of the face. “You’re the one _throwing things_ at me.”

“I wouldn’t be throwing things at you if you’d shut the hell up and let me sleep! Unlike some people, I wasn’t snoring half the plane ride.”

Alex narrows his eyes and glares right back, lobbing another pillow right at John’s head. “Fucking _make me_ shut up, asshole!” 

“Really?” John practically shouts, shoving himself up from the bed, blood rushing hot in his ears. What the hell is _wrong_ with this boy and his stupid lean legs and dark eyes and infuriatingly soft lips that John hasn’t been able to stop _thinking_ about since that day in the locker room? He takes a step closer, right at the edge of Alex’s bed. He stares up at John defiantly, chin jutting out in that smug, infuriating way of his, smirk curling up the corner of his stupid lips. “Is that what you want?”

Alex doesn’t wait for his answer. Just tugs John down onto the bed and kisses him again, and for some reason, this time John doesn’t pull away. He lets himself be directed down onto the mattress, crawls over Alex until he’s hovering over him, hands to either side of his head as he lets Alex bite at his lower lip, press his tongue forward until John has the unexplainable urge to part his lips, let him inside. Alex makes this little noise that causes John’s stomach to flutter in the worst way, and he’s suddenly, completely sure that this is the worst idea he’s ever had. 

He presses a hand firmly to Alex’s chest and pushes himself away, jumping back up to his feet before Alex can protest. 

“I have to get some air.” He’s across the room in a heartbeat, slipping his shoes onto the wrong feet in his rush and yanking open the door. He can feel the panic pulsing through his veins. 

“John, can we just–”

The door slams shut behind him before Alex can finish his request.

* * *

They’re not allowed to leave the hotel grounds on their own, so John paces the parking lot, his skin itching, restless and wound up and entirely unable to stop moving because if he stops _moving_ he might start to think, and if he starts to _think_ he might start to examine the pleasant feeling that sparked deep inside of him when Alex shoved his tongue into his mouth. What John really wants is to go to the hotel gym– he’s always avoided the worst of his intrusive thoughts by focusing on a steady weight in his hands, the sound of his heart beating in his own ears as he pushes his body to its limits– but he’s not dressed for it, and changing would require going back to his room, and _that’s_ just not an option with Alex up there. Like an annoying moth that won’t leave him alone, content to keep invading his space and drawing his focus away from more important things every time it gets too close. It’s the only explanation he has for the uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach. 

He tries to think through his father’s critiques as he walks the length of the parking lot. To pinpoint his own weaknesses and figure out how best to overcome them before the competition. It’s less than five minutes before the image of Alex, soft and warm and full of fire beneath him, crashes back to the forefront. 

This cycle of distraction, intrusive thoughts, deflection continues until it’s time to meet in the lobby. Alex is five minutes late, but Coach Washington doesn’t say a word, only shoots him a stern look. John rolls his eyes and wonders if any of the _rest_ of them could get away with that. Schedules are like their bibles when it comes to training and competitions– follow them religiously or suffer the consequences. He tries to quiet the pounding of his heart. 

Lunch is a noisy affair. They’ve commandeered a long table in the middle of the room at a nearby restaurant, and all the guys are chatting, joking, yelling across the table to be heard at the far end. Alex is seated diagonally across from him, looking annoyingly unbothered by what went down in their room. 

John picks at his grilled chicken while Alex starts in on his second slice of pizza. 

Washington doesn’t actually come to lunch with them. He hardly ever does, more content to order room service than unnecessarily force himself to deal with their antics _outside_ of the gym. Which _of course_ means the guys are talking about things they know they shouldn’t be. 

Namely, girls from their gym. 

“You know the girls are off limits,” John tells them, the corner of his lip twisting down, his expression pinched. “If Washington heard y’all talking like this, you’d be on the next flight back home.”

“We’re just _talking,_ Laurens. We’re not actually doing anything.”

“Yeah,” another chimes in. “Besides, not all of us want to wait for marriage and all that.”

Alex makes careful eye contact with him across the table. Raises one eyebrow and smirks. 

“I never said that,” John mutters, glaring down at his chicken. 

“You didn’t need to.” 

John rolls his eyes as a few of them laugh at his expense. This is better than the alternative, he tells himself. It’s better that they all just think he’s a prude, too straight-laced to engage in all of that. After all, he shares hotel rooms with these guys. A locker room. They don’t need to be worried about whether his eyes are wandering. 

As the server comes back around to clear their plates, Alex holds out the last slice of his pizza in offer. “You want it? I’m stuffed, but I know if I take it to go I’m just going to forget about it in the mini-fridge.”

John clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “I don’t put junk into my body.”

Alex snorts a laugh and drops it back down onto his plate. “You need carbs.”

“Yeah. Healthy carbs. Whole grain. Not… _that_ ,” he says, motioning towards the slice. “It’s covered in grease.”

“It’s fucking delicious is what it is.” Alex gives him an infuriating little smirk and then pointedly licks the grease from his lips. 

John very purposefully does _not_ respond. 

* * *

As they walk back to the hotel, Alex falls to the back of the group where John has been trying to keep his distance. He opens his mouth to speak, but John cuts him off. 

“Can we just _not_?”

“John, I–”

“I’m serious, okay? I don’t want to do this right now.” He lowers his voice a notch, hoping to keep any of the others from hearing. 

“Just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Alex mutters, glancing down at his feet. 

_Oh._

“I thought I was picking up on something, but–” He shrugs. “Look, I don’t want you to fuck up tomorrow. It’ll look bad if I win the all-around and then we don’t win the team gold.” 

“You’re not going to win the all-around,” John snaps, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“We’ll see.” Alex grins as he recycles John’s line, irritating and impossible and frustratingly pretty when he blinks up at him. “But if I’m gonna beat you, I wanna earn it. Which means you need your head in the game.”

“It’d be easier to keep my head in the game if I didn’t keep thinking about my teammate trying to _seduce me_ –”

“Ah, so you’ve been thinking about it?” Alex’s lips twitch up in a smirk. 

“You’re an asshole.”

“Guilty as charged.” His grin falters and is replaced with a more serious look. “But for real, I’m done. If there’s nothing there… well I’m not into chasing straight guys.”

John glances over. He’s _sure_ Alex doesn’t believe that. 

But he’s not going to argue when he’s been given an easy out. 

“Alright. Cool.”

* * *

John has routines– rituals, whatever you want to call them– the night before every competition. So, when his father calls at quarter to eight, John spends the next half hour on the phone with him going over his competitors, his biggest threats, which events John really needed a flawless execution on to pull out a win. 

Alex is spread out on the other bed, reading, though John catches him rolling his eyes every once in a while, clearly listening in on his conversation. 

When he finally ends the call, Alex doesn’t look up from his book, but he apparently can’t hold back his opinion. “That seems exhausting. No wonder you’re so stressed out all the time.”

John grabs his bag of toiletries and heads to the bathroom, leaving the door open as he washes his face. “He just wants to make sure I do my best.”

Alex raises his voice to be heard over the tap. “Were you planning on going out there tomorrow and… not doing your best on any of your routines?”

“No, _obviously_ not.”

He hears Alex get up, groaning as he stretches out. The soft noise of socked footsteps as he crosses the room and suddenly appears in the doorway. “Then what the fuck is any of that good for besides getting all up in your head? It’s not like you have time to fix anything now.” He cocks one hip against the frame of the door. “You’re gonna go out there tomorrow and be as ridiculously perfect as you always are. Stop worrying.”

“I’m hardly perfect,” John tells him with an edge to his voice as he rinses off his face. 

“You sure seem to think you are.”

“Don’t act like you know me all of a sudden,” John snaps, turning off the tap and glaring at him. 

“I think I know you better than most people.”

There’s something open and honest and raw in Alex’s expression that makes John’s heart catch in his throat. 

He tries to bury the strange, tingling feeling there, but it won’t stay _down_. “Seriously, can you just fuck off?” He grabs his toothbrush, making a point of not looking at Alex as he busies himself, but he catches the way his expression changes in the mirror to something defeated. Firmly closed off. 

“Yup. Sure thing.” He rounds the corner, calling back behind him, “Have fun jerking off to your own sense of self importance or whatever the fuck you plan on doing in there.”

When John emerges from the bathroom a while later, freshly showered and dressed in a soft pair of pajamas, Alex is gone. 

* * *

John can’t sleep. It’s not that he’s _worried_ about Alex. If anything he’s worried about _himself_. If Alex gets caught doing something stupid and reckless, John will take on at least part of the blame for not going to their coach when he first realized he snuck out. There’s a chance Washington will send them _both_ back home without competing.

He can’t afford that kind of hit with Nationals just around the corner. 

He can’t even fathom what Alex is thinking right now. This is his first competition with their gym, as a member of their _team_ . Why would he want to screw that up? Why would he want to go in there tomorrow at anything less than one hundred percent? Like everything else about Alex, the whole situation is just impossible. And frustrating. And John can’t stop _thinking_ about it. 

So, when Alex strolls back into their room at half past midnight, his clothing a little rumpled but otherwise looking completely fine, John is up on his feet in a huff of indignation. “Where the fuck _were_ you?”

Alex takes a careful step back in surprise, throwing his hands up like a shield. “I was just _out_. The fuck is your problem? I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me for a while.”

“We have a _competition_ tomorrow! Does that mean _nothing_ to you?”

Alex narrows his eyes. “Look, you have your _rituals_ , I have mine. Just working out some nerves.”

He tugs his shirt over his head as he steps towards the bathroom, tossing it on the floor behind him. Right before he turns around, John catches sight of a purpling mark low on his chest. “Working out some _nerves?_ Like _that_?” John asks, motioning to the hickey and feeling irrational anger bubbling up all the way from his stomach to his throat. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you were out with one of the girls from our gym.”

“Don’t worry, she’s eighteen,” he tells John with a cocky, self-satisfied grin. John wants to knock it right off his stupid face. “I checked.”

“That’s not the damn _point,_ Alex! You’re risking your career and for what? For a one time fuck?” He balls his fist tight, pressing it into his own thigh as he shakes his head. 

“Look,” Alex snaps, turning around abruptly to get right up in John’s face. “I don’t expect _you_ to understand since you’ve clearly never had a bit of fun in your life, but I can’t go out there tomorrow all stiff and jumped up on my own anxiety. I do best when I’m relaxed, loose. You should try it some time.” Then he slams the bathroom door in John’s face. 

A moment later, John hears the shower splutter to life on the other side of the wall, and he tries not to picture Alex, stripped down and dripping wet. Tries not to wonder if he has those dark marks from someone else’s mouth anywhere _else_. 

It’s harder to keep the mental images away when Alex quietly steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist, water dripping down his chest and the muscles of his back. John doesn’t _look_ , but he still _sees_ because it’s a small room and no matter where he fixes his eyes he’s bound to see _something_. When Alex pulls a pair of sweats from his suitcase and drops his towel for just a moment before tugging them on, John’s eyes flit towards him. He catches a quick glimpse of the curve of his ass before turning away quickly. Tries not to think about how it looks so perfect it may as well be carved from marble. Like a fucking statue in a museum. Fucking jerk. 

Alex falls asleep before John. He can hear his breathing fall into a deeper rhythm, the light sound of his snoring. John still can’t settle his own mind as he tosses and turns on the hotel mattress. Perhaps Alex is right. Perhaps he _is_ too caught up in his own head. He needs to relax. 

As quiet as he can, he slips one hand down below the comforter, past the waistband of his pajamas. He’s already half hard, the annoyingly persistent memories of Alex’s lips on him breaking through his thoughts all evening. The occasional image of what Alex might have looked like in the shower. What he might have looked like in that girl’s hotel room. He lets his mind go there purposely now, though instead of some faceless girl, he imagines himself with Alex. The two of them, back on his bed, John leaning over him, but instead of pulling away this time, he melts into that gorgeous, frustrating body. Strips Alex bare and touches every inch of skin. Imagines Alex’s voice pitched soft and breathless as John covers the ugly mark that girl left with his own, Alex’s body a canvas for his mouth and teeth and tongue. He would lay Alex out on the pillows, stretch him slow and thorough, until he was flushed and squirming and begging, and then finally, with pleas falling from those soft, beautiful lips, he’d slip inside. John’s hand can’t compare, but the thought alone of sinking into tight heat, hearing Alex gasp and moan underneath him, tips him suddenly over the edge. He bites down hard on his own lip to keep quiet as feels his cock throb, wet warmth spreading across the front of pajama pants.

He glances over at the other bed. Thank _god_. Alex still seems to be sleeping soundly. John carefully wipes his hand against his thigh before pulling it free, quietly crosses to the bathroom, rinsing off quickly and changing into a clean pair of pajamas. Back under the bedding, he _finally_ falls into a deep sleep. The feel of Alex’s soft lips plays over and over again like a highlight reel in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of want to know how many of you read the beginning of this chapter and thought it was gonna be one bed? lol 
> 
> Leave comments please ❤️
> 
> So delighted that so many of you are enjoying this!


	3. Chapter 3

John hates to put any stock in _Alex’s_ advice, but when he wakes up in the morning, he _does_ feel calm. More calm than he’s felt the morning of any _other_ competition he can remember. He’s surprised he woke before his alarm, but then he gropes for his phone on the nightstand and the color drains from his face as he sees the time. _“Fuck!”_

He rolls out of bed and up onto his feet, kicking the comforter off in the process. He can hear the sink running– Alex getting ready in the bathroom. 

“Why the _fuck_ didn’t you wake me? My alarm didn’t go off!” So much for that sense of calm. 

Alex ducks his head around the corner of the doorframe, toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. “The fuck was I supposed to know what time you wanted to wake up?” he manages, the words garbled around a mouthful of toothpaste. John hears him spit, then rinse, before he comes around the corner again. “Just chill. You have enough time to get ready. We don’t need to be in the lobby for another thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes? Alex! That’s nothing! _Fuck!_ ”

“I’m serious,” he says, vacating the bathroom so John can barrel past him and make himself look halfway presentable. “You need to get laid. It would help with…” He motions vaguely towards where John is hurriedly trying to get his hair under control. “All of this.” 

“Fuck _off!_ ” John slams the door behind him. 

* * *

By the time they walk into the building, John feels marginally more put together, and that calm starts to creep back in. They made it down on time, they’re ready, and most importantly the competition will start soon. _This_ is what John is good at. What he was _made_ for. Alex is sipping coffee from a damn travel mug next to him as they get ready to walk out. John rolls his eyes.

“What?” Alex asks, swaying to the side to playfully nudge against him with one shoulder. “You want some?”

John gives him a flat look. “No. I don’t want to upset my stomach with _coffee_ right before I’m about to spin and flip and jump all over the place.”

Alex shrugs and takes another sip as if John hadn’t said any of that. “Never been a problem for me before. Maybe you just have a weak stomach.”

John sends up a silent prayer for strength, hoping he can get through the day without punching his teammate in the face. 

As they get ready to walk out, Alex falls back so John can lead their team into the arena, all in matching navy competition shirts and white pants. Team jackets. As the spectators clap and cheer when their gym is announced over the speakers– _lead by team captain John Laurens_ – John can’t help but search the crowd for his father while he waves up at the audience. He finally finds him, seated close to the front of the stands, the rest of the family there beside him. Even little Mary, propped up in Martha’s lap. His father’s eyes are on him, pride evident in the way he claps and cheers as they take their seats.

John knows he won’t look quite so pleased if he doesn’t bring home another gold. 

He takes a deep, steadying breath and flashes a smile up towards his family. Watches as Jemmy sees him, mirrors his smile, and waves back enthusiastically. 

Then, John takes his seat and tunes out the rest of the entrances as they’re announced. He doesn’t want to focus on the other teams. He wants to focus on _himself_. His routines. The depth of his breathing and the feel of his heart as it pulses steady and sure behind his ribs. A warm hand on his arm. 

_Wait what._

He snaps his gaze to the left where Alex is looking at him, head tilted to one side, hand still resting lightly on his arm, and it takes John a second to realize he must have asked a question. 

“Sorry– what?”

“I, uh, just asked if you’re feeling ready,” Alex says, a soft smile pulling up the side of mouth. “I know yesterday was kind of a mess.”

John grins because he’s not about to let some stupid distraction affect _this_. He came here to win. With a quick nod, he leans back in his chair. “Of course I’m ready. No matter what bullshit goes on out there in the rest of my life, _this_ is where I shine.”

Alex’s face splits into a wide grin as well now, and he slaps John on the shoulder in a friendly, encouraging sort of way. The contact sets off that inexplicable fluttering in his stomach again, and he’s uncomfortably aware of all of the cameras. Wonders if they can read it on his face. If they know that something’s off. 

“Glad to hear it. It'll make it that much more satisfying when I beat your ass.” Alex mimics his posture, leans back in his chain and scans the floor in front of them. “I’ve never, uh, competed somewhere this big before. You don’t think I’m gonna choke, do you?” For once, Alex actually sounds _nervous_. It’s unexpected, and when he glances at Alex’s face, his expression is a little unsure, a little anxious, and the vulnerability there only amplifies the strange fluttering in John’s stomach.

He breathes a soft laugh. “You? No way.” He leans forward to look Alex in those dark, intense eyes. Feels a little bit like he could drown in them. “You’re the only one who _maybe_ gets in more hours of training than I do. You’re going to go out there and wow them. Make a goddamn name for yourself.” Alex’s face softens into a smile at the encouragement, and John tells himself the way his heart jumps at the sight is only natural. After all, he is supposed to be the leader of their team. Reassuring and encouraging the others is part of that. “Those judges will be as stunned as I was– uh I mean, you know, as _all of us_ were– the first time you walked into the gym and showed everyone else how it’s done.” John smiles, a true, genuine smile, and tries to steady the suddenly rapid beating of his heart. “No time for fucking up, right? We’ve got shit to prove.”

Alex laughs, and it’s a full, encouraged sound that cracks through the tension and lights up his face. “Yeah. We do.” 

There’s a break in applause, and John’s gaze drifts back up to his family. Jemmy beams and waves at him when he makes eye contact. Martha sticks out her tongue until his dad leans over and says something in her ear with a stern look. But John laughs, glad for a little glimpse of normalcy in the midst of it all. Alex is watching him carefully, and then his eyes pick out John’s family in the crowd as well.

“Did your foster family come today?” he asks. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but Boston wouldn’t be too much of a trip for them. Alex had said he moved from New York. It couldn’t be more than a few hours, even by car. 

John isn’t expecting Alex to laugh, but he does, dry and a little bitter. “Considering I didn’t invite them?” He shakes his head to himself. John doesn’t know what to say, but he’s saved the trouble when Alex continues. “They didn’t really express a ton of interest in keeping in touch after I left. And I aged out of the system so, you know,” he says with a shrug that’s too casual to be anything but forced considering the topic. “They don’t have any responsibility to keep tabs on me or anything.”

“Oh.” John stares down hard at his own lap, internally kicking himself for even asking. For assuming they had _wanted_ to come. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t…” He doesn’t know how to finish that. Weren’t _what_? Close to them? Loved? Taken care of properly?

Alex snorts. “Stop. It’s fine. It’s better this way, really.”

“How do you figure?” He knows he looks skeptical, but he just can’t imagine coming out to huge competitions like this with no one to support him. 

“If I only have myself to depend on, I’m the only one who can let me down.” He hesitates for a minute as a round of applause breaks out, welcoming yet another gym. Leans a little closer so John can hear him. “You know what my mom used to tell me? When I was just a kid, doing dangerous shit on the little playground by the beach because I never wanted to fucking sit still?”

John smiles. He can picture it– a younger version of Alex, constantly moving, constantly needing _something_ to keep himself occupied. “What?” 

“She told me, ‘Mijo, you weren’t meant to keep your feet on the ground. So don’t. Go ahead and fly. Don’t let anyone hold you back.’ Cheesy, I know,” he adds with a quiet, self conscious laugh. “But it stuck with me. I like to think I’m proving her right, you know?” He sucked in his lower lip. “That if she were around to see me now, she’d be proud.”

John’s smile stretches wide, and when he feels his heart high in his chest, he wants to reach for the boy next to him. Wrap him up in his arms and hold him. Reassure him that people _are_ proud of him. But there are cameras _everywhere,_ and his family is in the crowd, and that’s not the type of shit you do at a competition. Not if you want to be taken seriously. So, he keeps his hands to himself. “I’m sure she would be. Look at how far you’ve come,” he says. Watches as Alex’s eyes scan the arena in front of them, something slightly far off in his expression. John wishes he could see into his mind. Know what he’s thinking right now. 

Before either of them can say anything else to break the heavy weight growing in the air between them, the last team is walking in. The announcers start their spiel, telling the crowd they’re about to get started, laying out the usual introductory speech. The guys on their team tune it out as Coach Washington stands, motions them all over into a huddle. “This is our last big competition before Nationals, boys. I don’t want to see any mistakes out there today. You should know these routines in your sleep. So go out there, give a clean performance, and we’re _guaranteed_ to head into Nationals as the club to beat. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they all echo back.

“Alright, hands in.”

As they reach towards the center of the circle, Alex’s hand comes to rest on top of his, warm skin lighting up his own like electricity, but John can’t pull away this time. He’s half a beat late with the cheer as they all break away in unison, his mind still firmly on Alex– on the feel of his skin and his lips and the way his eyes softened just a moment ago when he was talking about his mother. 

Ironically, it’s Alex who shakes him out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, taking the spot next to John as he stands at the edge of it all, watching as all the teams begin to get ready for their first events. “It’s game time.”

* * *

John has never had a problem staying focused on himself at a competition before. Of course that would change today at the sight of Alexander goddamn Hamilton doing his ring routine. The competition pants hug his ass in a way that the shorts he usually wears to train in just _don’t,_ and John can’t stop fucking staring. Every time he holds a pose, those muscles are so tight and defined. John still can’t get the image from the night before, his bare skin as he bent over to pull on his sweats, out of his mind. As Alex pulls himself back into a hold, legs straight in the air, ass on display once again, John forces his gaze away. It takes far too much willpower. He finds his family in the crowd once again, hoping it’ll be enough to drag his mind away from more improper thoughts. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner in a room with multiple camera crews. 

Once his heart rate normalizes, he brings his eyes back to the rings just in time to catch Alex’s dismount. John lets out a breath of relief and a little cheer as he sticks the landing, watches as he gives Washington a grin and a quick high five when he hops back down to the floor, jogging over towards the team. 

He beams at John as he takes his seat, a layer of sweat clinging to his forehead and shoulders and the back of his neck. “So? How was that?” he asks, too full of pride to think it was anything _but_ phenomenal. “Still sloppy?”

John laughs, shoving him lightly on the arm. “No, much better. _Almost_ as good as mine.”

“Did your score come out while I was up there?”

He can’t help the wide grin that breaks out on his face. It had been a good routine. Clean and sure of his movements, a few moves with increased difficulty added since his last competition. “Yeah. 14.366.”

Alex lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Alright then. But still, that was _pretty damn good_ what I just did up there. You never know, I’ve got a chance still.”

As the next member of their team starts his routine, Alex’s score flashes up on the board. 14.133. 

“ _Motherfucker_!” 

John laughs again at the sour look on his face and nudges him with his shoulder. “Remember the cameras, asshole. Don’t want to look like a sore loser. 

Alex schools his expression just in time as one of them gets closer, flashing a smile as everyone claps. Once they’re gone, John leans back again and grins at him. “It’s still a good score. Especially considering where your rings were at just a couple of weeks ago. I’m kind of worried what you’re going to manage to pull off between now and Nationals.”

The side of Alex’s mouth pulls tight. “Washington doesn’t want me trying out anything new between now and then. I have something I’ve been working on for the high bar, but he won’t even listen to my arguments about _why_ he should let me try it.”

John glances at him sideways, taking in the clear frustration on his face. “He probably just doesn’t want to risk something more complicated if there’s a chance you won’t execute it perfectly. Consistency is key.”

“Consistency is _boring_.” He grabs the water bottle from under his chair and takes a long sip, looking a little sullen. “I can do more than he’s allowing me to. If I’m going to make the national team, I need the chance to perform higher difficulty moves in competition.”

John gives him a sympathetic look. “You’ve just got to trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

* * *

Coming back from a bathroom break, John notices Alex and Washington tucked in a corner of the hall, Alex’s voice rising in frustration. 

He ducks back inside the bathroom and holds his breath, not daring to make a sound as he listens. 

He’s not sure _why_ he does it. He _should_ just go back out to the floor. Focus on his remaining events. Get into the proper headspace to finish the day off right. To win. But something about the desperate plea in Alex’s voice stops him.

“I can add a half twist to the Yurchenko. You’ve seen me land it plenty of times back at the gym.”

“ _Hamilton._ It’s not ready. I haven’t seen you land it _enough_ times for it to be a sure thing, and we need you to perform a steady vault to secure the team win. You’ll get the gold in vault with what we have planned as long as you perform it as well as you have been.”

 _“But not in the all-around!”_ John bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, practically feeling the tension in Alex’s voice as it echoes in the empty hall. “I can _do_ this! I can take it all if you’ll just _let me_!” 

_“You’re not ready!”_

John has heard Washington yell before, but never like this. Like he’s a second away from grabbing the boy in front of him and trying to shake some sense into him. 

“You’re making a mistake,” Alex spits out. 

“Hamilton,” Washington tells him, sounding like it’s taking everything he has to keep it together. “You’re going to go out there and do the vault we agreed upon and secure us the team gold. It’s not up for discussion.” There’s a beat of silence, and John swears he can feel the heated, angry tension all the way from where he’s listening in. _“Am I understood?”_

“Yes, sir,” Alex spits out sullenly

Washington heads back out to the floor, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing through the hall. John gives it another thirty seconds and then rounds the corner. Alex’s eyes fall on him immediately, and he’s red in the face, looking wound up and upset and surprisingly _fragile_. John had expected him to be angry. He hadn’t expected him to look like he was a second away from _breaking_. 

“Alex–”

“Oh, _fuck off!_ ” He storms past John, back out onto the floor. 

John just stands there in the hallway, feeling like he’s been thrown overboard a ship he didn’t even know he was _on_. 

* * *

John’s always been good at compartmentalizing. Especially when it comes to crunch time. It’s how he’s been able to keep his emotions in check most of his life, to stay focused. He’s able to shove the conversation he overheard into its own little box in the back of his mind while he goes out and does his floor routine. He doesn’t misstep once, and he gets enough height in his tumbling passes, and when he finally steps off the mat he can see the smile on his father’s face all the way from the ground. Washington claps him on the shoulder as he hops down. John can’t help but think he _was_ a little bit looser on floor this time around, and he wonders if it had anything to do with Alex’s advice. How he had released some tension last night. 

“That’ll be enough to keep you in the lead,” Washington reassures with a nod and warm, though restrained smile. “Keep it up.”

“Thank you, sir,” he says with a wide grin, still riding the high from being out on the mat, the whole stadium watching, clapping and cheering for him, the noise filtered as though he’s underwater as he flies through the air, strong sure movements and precise footwork all the way through to the end. _Damn_ , it’s a good feeling. He glances back towards his team. “Who’s up next?”

“Hamilton has vault coming up.”

John’s mind comes crashing back to their clipped conversation in the hall. He notes the mostly concealed concern in Washington’s voice and decides not to comment on it. Jogs back to his seat and grabs some water, his heart beating too fast to sit just yet. When his eyes fall on Alex, he can sense that something is off more readily than he probably should. He’s obviously only able to read him so well because he overheard that argument in the hall. And because he’s been spending so much time sharing a room with him. There’s definitely not any _other_ reason that he’s so attuned to Alex and his mood and his body language and the subtle differences that prove that something is _wrong_. 

“Hey,” John says, aiming for a light, teasing tone. “I don’t get a _good job_? Some teammate you are.”

Alex glances up at him, annoyed and distracted. “Sorry. I know you think the world revolves around you, but I have my own shit to focus on.”

“That’s not what I– you know what? Whatever.” He shakes his head to himself, trying to relax. This thing between Alex and Washington has nothing to do with him. Alex is only lashing out because he’s upset. He tries to bring his mood back up with something that’ll make him feel better. Pick up his bruised ego. “So, you ready to destroy me at vault? I have absolutely no doubt you’ll edge me out for first there. I don’t stand a chance.”

Alex doesn’t respond. Just glares at the floor by his feet and sulks. John forces a smile as one of the cameras pans over towards them, hoping to draw any focus away from Alex and his bad mood. Once it’s gone, he sighs, turns to try something else, anything to cheer him up– he hadn’t realized how much he _missed_ Alex’s smug grin and teasing laugh– but he’s already up on his feet, heading over towards the vault. 

Too late. 

John sets his jaw and watches as Alex checks the setup of the springboard and then stands at the end of the runway, waiting. There’s something stubbornly determined in his eyes that makes John’s heart jump in his chest, both fear and something else that he can’t quite name. 

Alex salutes the judges, chin high in the air and his mouth in a hard, set line. John holds his breath as he takes off running towards the springboard. Vault is Alex’s bread and butter, and he always looks good doing it, quick and agile and powerful. But his argument with Washington is still ringing in John’s ears, and he’s hyper aware of every line of Alex’s body as he twists through the air. He’s doing the higher difficulty vault. The one Washington specifically told him _not_ to do. And because John is so intently focused on him, he notices before the crowd. Alex is coming back down too quick as he finishes the last twist, too close to the mat already as he attempts to get his feet underneath him. John’s face pulls into a pained grimace as Alex stumbles and falls down to the side, his ankle twisting as his body meets the mat. 

The crowd gasps, everyone holding their breath, waiting to see if this newcomer is out for the count. When Alex finally pulls himself to his feet, there’s muted applause, relief, but his face is etched in bitterness as he turns to the judges and gives his final salute before walking off, stepping a little more gingerly on his right foot. 

Washington pulls him aside immediately. He’s speaking too quietly for John to hear at this distance, ducking his face low towards Alex’s to block out the cameras, but John can see the lines of anger in his posture, can feel the tense energy between the two of them. He can’t hear what Alex says in response, but he’s animated, waving his hands in front of him, clearly trying to convince Washington of _something_. The crowd is quiet as everyone waits, and then there’s more applause as Alex steps back onto the floor for his second attempt. He performs his original vault this time, but it’s clear his ankle is causing him some pain, and he doesn’t stick the landing as well as he usually does. He winces when his foot makes contact with the mat. John throws his head over the back of his chair and lets out a deep sigh. It’s not enough.

He doesn’t watch as Alex leaves the mat this time, but when he hears him drop into the chair next to him, John straightens up to look. He’s leaning forward, head in his hands. Clearly miserable. 

He’s not sure if Alex heard him move, or if he can just feel the weight of his stare, but without picking up his head he groans. “God _fucking_ dammit.” 

John kind of wants to give him a hug. Kind of wants to punch him for most likely costing them the team gold. 

Instead of either he asks, “How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine,” Alex mutters towards the floor. “Hurts like hell, but I’ll live. It’s not broken or anything. I’d be able to tell if it was.”

“Do you need to sit out your last apparatus?”

Alex finally sits up at that, and when he fixes John with a glare, his eyes are startlingly rimmed red. “My last one is high bar. That’s not gonna put strain on my ankle. I’m _not_ sitting it out.”

John doesn’t mention that landing the dismount will definitely put strain on his ankle, even if the rest of the routine won’t. “I was just asking.”

“Well _don’t_. We’re not some sort of _family_ or something just because we train at the same gym. I don’t need you trying to protect me. Trying to _stop_ _me_. What I _need_ is to get back out there and finish what I started.”

John watches as he slumps back forward, pressing his palms into his eye sockets again, probably to hide the splotchy redness of his face from the cameras.

Alex’s score flashes up on the board, and he doesn’t glance up to see it. It’s not enough for gold, but he knew it wouldn’t be the second he stepped off the mat. John’s never felt worse about winning in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bendy boys are sad :(((
> 
> I wanted to post this chapter yesterday but I felt like hell! I still feel like hell but c'est la vie
> 
> Please leave some comments down below ❤️ Really appreciate all the love so far for this little story.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex still takes gold on floor, but he only gets bronze in vault and in the all-around. A blow for both him _and_ their gym since he was favored for silver. John doesn’t quite get the clean sweep his dad expected, three silvers plus the one in the team competition. But he easily wins gold in the all-around, and that will be enough to keep his dad off his back at least. It’s _more_ than John had expected from the day. And yet, his heart feels heavy as he stands on the podium and smiles for the cameras. When they file onto the bus back to the hotel, the mood is flat. What should have been a sure win for their team turned into a disappointment. They were expecting to head to Nationals on the tails of a victory. 

Alex gets on the bus last, trailing right behind Washington with a sullen look on his face, his ankle wrapped and walking with a bit of a limp. He’s already taken off his medals, most likely shoved unceremoniously into his bag with everything else. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he drops into a seat by himself and sulks the whole way back. 

When they get back to the hotel, John offers to carry his gym bag up to their room so Alex can walk a little easier, but he declines. The elevator ride up to their floor is dead silent, and the whirring of the machinery feels too loud, the ding as the doors slide open grating. It isn’t until the door is finally closed behind them that John speaks again. 

“You should have listened to Washington.”

“Fuck off, John.” Alex drops down heavily onto the bed, tossing his gym bag against the wall with a thud. “I don’t need to hear it right now.”

“I think you do.” John knows he’s overstepping, but there’s something so fragile in Alex right now, and he would hate to see him break over this. He’s too good for that. He sits down on his own bed, right across from Alex, staring him in the eyes. “Because based on what you did out there, and how you’re acting right now, you still don’t get it. And you _need_ to get it, Alex.”

“Need to get _what?_ ” he snaps. “That I’m _not_ good enough? That no one even _expects_ me to be able to win, let alone wants me to go for it?”

John feels his heart breaking with the thought that Alex could ever feel that way. _Of course_ he’s good enough. He’s better than all of them. Has a chance to be the best in the world someday. “No one thinks that, Alex,” he says slowly. Carefully. “You just need more time to get those high difficulty moves completely unshakable.”

 _“I don’t_ have _time!”_ The words come out sharp and brittle, and Alex’s voice cracks a little at the end when his nose scrunches up and his eyes start to water just barely at the corners. He blinks it back, swallowing visibly and taking a shuddering breath. “This is my shot, John. _Now._ If I don’t make it in the next Olympic cycle, I doubt I _ever_ will. We don’t have forever– _you_ of all people should know that– and I got _screwed_.” He glares down at his own lap where his fists are clenched. “ _Everyone_ else at the gym has been training seriously for _years_ . That’s the difference. They _had_ time to build everything up slow and careful. I _don’t_. And it fucking _sucks_. The only way I’m getting to the Olympics is on an accelerated schedule, and I just fucking screwed myself with an injury that I can’t afford right now.”

John stares across at him, at his hunched posture, the redness in his face, the way his hair has started to come loose, falling around his face in dark waves. This time, when the urge strikes John to reach out and touch, he doesn’t stop himself. Because Alex needs him. Right now, he needs someone to reassure and comfort him. It’s something he’s probably needed for a long time. He places a hand under Alex’s chin and tilts his face up so he’s staring into those molten, beautiful brown eyes, tucks a strand of hair gently behind his ear. “You’re getting on the national team.”

Alex huffs a defeated, somewhat hysterical sounding laugh that hitches on a sob at the end. 

“Listen to me, goddammit,” John tells him, leaving no room for doubt in his voice. “You _are_. _No one_ would be wasting their time with you if you weren’t. You already beat me at floor. You _can_ beat me at vault. We both know that. And soon you’re going to kick my ass at everything else too. You’re going to go out there on the world stage and show everyone what a _real_ champion looks like. Not someone who was bred and raised for it, but someone who _fought_ for it. And soon enough, everyone in the world will know your name.” Alex’s lips are pulling tight at the side, curving upward just barely now, his eyes wet, like he’s doing everything he can to stop the tears from falling. He looks beautiful. “But you have to _trust us_. Trust Washington. Trust _me_.”

“How can I trust you? You’re my _competition_ ,” Alex says with a shaky laugh. “You should _want me_ to choke.”

John smiles, shakes his head. He drops both of his hands to Alex’s knees, leaning forward to focus on Alex’s eyes, trying to light the fire back in them with a spark of his own. “Because I _need you,_ Alex. And I think you need me too.”

One tear slips out, tracing a delicate path down Alex’s cheek, and he gives John a smile, laughing as he shakes his head as well. “You know, that sounded pretty homoerotic for someone who’s not interested.” 

“Oh, shut up, asshole,” John says through a laugh, but there’s something softer warming in his chest now.

And when Alex leans forward so their lips are just an inch apart and says _make me_ , John _does_. 

It’s different kissing Alex like this, on his own terms. That sharp, painful way his heart spiked is gone, replaced with a warm tingling that starts in his chest and spreads down to his stomach, out through his limbs, high into his cheeks, until every inch of him feels electric.

Wait– not electric. No, the adrenaline of competition and a crowd makes him feel electric. Kissing Alex makes him feel _alive_.

Alex’s hands find his, come to rest on top of them, and John takes the moment to tug him across the empty space, onto his bed. Alex allows it, climbs up, straddling John’s lap and bringing a hand up to cup the side of his face. It’s as warm and perfect as John remembered, callused and rough in a way that only highlights how much work Alex puts into everything. How dedicated he is. How impossible it feels that someone like _him_ is here, in John’s hotel bed, kissing him like he’s worth more than a gold medal.

He grips his hands under Alex’s thighs, attempts to shift him more securely onto the bed, but Alex suddenly flinches and pulls away from the kiss.

“ _Fuck_ , _careful_!” He hisses in a sharp breath. “Careful!” 

John feels his own face fall in confusion, unsure what he did wrong, suddenly wondering if this somehow isn’t what Alex wants–

“My ankle,” he clarifies quickly, adjusting so he’s sitting down at the edge of the bed instead, getting his leg out from under him. “It hurts like a motherfucker.”

The laughter bubbles up in John’s chest, relief and pure joy because this is _real_ and it’s _happening_ and he _isn’t_ wrong about Alex’s feelings. He leans to the side and captures Alex’s lips again, deeper this time, pressing all of the urgency into it that he refused to acknowledge for the past few weeks, making up for lost time. 

Alex clearly doesn’t want to waste time either, now that they’re here. He parts his lips and lets John in, pushing and giving in equal measure, hands finding their way into his hair and onto his shoulders, his arms. Tracing over the smooth material of his competition shirt where it clings to his abs. Dip lower under the waistband of his sweatpants, brushing over the spandex that sits tight against his skin. John moans into his mouth at the touch, his hips bucking forward a little on reflex. 

After a moment of taking it all in, he consciously allows himself to reciprocate. _Finally_ runs his hands along the length of Alex’s arms, the curve of his shoulders. Fuck they feel good. Traces the definition of the muscles in his back with awe. He thinks back to all the times he stared at the contours of Alex’s body, wishing he had been brave enough to do exactly this. He brings a hand lower, the urge to finally feel Alex’s ass underneath his touch– after thinking about it _far too much_ today– driving his movements, but the sudden sound of his phone vibrating on the bed nearby cuts him short. 

Alex makes a little irritated, impatient noise into the kiss and clings a bit, and it’s actually kind of adorable. John half wants to tease him for it, half wants to absolutely wreck him, but reality is crashing back in too quickly as he pulls away. “Fuck, what time is it?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Picks up his phone with a guilty wince when he sees one of his teammates had asked _where the fuck are you_. John has to come up with some half-truth. Up in his room. Lost track of time. _Well get down here, we’re all starving. And is Alex with you? Good, tell him to get his ass down here too._

John tosses his phone down on the bed again and throws his head back with a groan. “We’ve got to get down to the lobby. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Tell them you’re not feeling well,” Alex says, leaning back in and pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I’ll say my ankle is swelling up again. Then we stay up here and continue all of _this_.”

John smiles and he _wants_ to say yes, wants to listen to the way his heart clenches at the suggestion. But he can’t ignore the sense of responsibility he feels. “I just won four gold medals, Alex. I don’t think they’ll buy it if I pretend I’m sick.” He’s already standing, rooting through his suitcase for a change of clothes. “Besides, you’re a part of the team. That means _doing team stuff_. Like going out to get dinner with everyone post-competition.”

“Ugh. _Fine._ ” Alex gets up as well now, quickly changing into a tight pair of jeans that make his ass look _too good_ and a button down. John is a little worried he won’t be able to focus on anything else all night. “But you _better_ not freak out again and try to backtrack all of this when we get back. Finish what you started, Laurens.”

John huffs a quiet laugh as he holds the door open, ushering Alex out into the hall. “You have my word.” 

* * *

And John really _was_ planning on continuing what they started after dinner, but then Alex had to go and… be Alex. 

John isn’t sure if he sends out the invitation to the rest of the team in order to try and score back some points after his screw up today, or if he’s just in the mood to be reckless, but his phone buzzes with a notification for a new group text as they’re still sitting around the table at a nearby restaurant. _Drinks after dinner. I know a place. First round is on me._

He doesn’t even check it right away, his dad’s rules about _no phones at the table_ have that weird sort of subconscious hold over him even when he’s away. But eventually he notices everyone _else_ checking their phones, a few of them grinning and whispering to one another, and the suspicion that something is up is too much to ignore. 

He glances sideways at Alex. There are already a few responses confirming their intent to join him and _honestly_ if it were anyone else initiating something so goddamn stupid and dangerous while they were out a competition, John would chew them out. But he’s not going to tell Alex off after everything that happened today. He probably needs a night out to calm down. And if he isn’t going to do it with all of them, he’s probably going to go out and do something stupid on his own. John _was_ the one who told him he needed to be involved in more team stuff after all. 

Illegal drinking isn’t _exactly_ what he had in mind. 

They head back to the hotel first– to keep up the illusion for Washington. They’re supposed to be in their rooms for the night after all, ready to wake up bright and early to travel back down south. 

As soon as they get to their room and the door is safely closed behind them, John raises an eyebrow at Alex. “You said you didn’t want _me_ backtracking, and yet–”

“Ugh, I know. Sorry,” Alex says, blunt and truly apologetic. He’s already digging through his suitcase, pulling out a t-shirt. When he strips off his button down, John feels an uncomfortable pulse of blood shoot down to his cock, reminders of earlier, of what they _should_ be doing now, still fresh and overwhelming in his mind, triggered by the sight of gorgeous, smooth, tan skin. Alex pulls the new shirt on quickly. It’s dark, practically skin tight, a neckline that drops low enough to show off his collarbones, the top of his chest. John thinks his heart might beat right out of his chest if _this_ is how Alex is going to look all night. “Just– I need to get out of this hotel. You know what I mean?”

No. John doesn’t know what he means. He doesn’t want to get out of this hotel. He wants to stay right here and get Alex back on his damn bed. 

But he’s got that vulnerable, slightly self conscious look in his eyes again, and John relents. Of course he does. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he lies. “But you do realize most of the other guys aren’t going to have fakes right? That _I_ don’t have a fake. How do you plan on making this work?”

“I know a guy,” Alex says simply. He tugs his hair out of its elastic, and the sight of it curling at his shoulders makes John want to reach out, run his fingers through it. The feeling doesn’t go away when he shakes it out, purposely messing it up a little. 

John swallows hard, trying to bring himself back to the issue at hand. “You _know a guy_?”

“Yeah,” Alex says as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. He frowns at John, giving him a once over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

John glances at his button down and khakis, feeling his brows pull down in concern as a little pang of self consciousness overtakes him. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You bring any jeans?” Alex asks, trying to peer into his suitcase. “You look too stiff.”

John huffs, but pulls a pair of jeans out of his suitcase and holds them up. “Will these work?” 

Alex tilts his head, considering. Scrunches his nose. “You didn’t bring anything… sexier?”

“For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know we were going out.” He doesn’t bother mentioning how he’s never gone to more than the occasional house party. He owns more church clothes than party clothes. 

The corner of Alex’s lip pulls down and he continues staring hard at John, as if trying to visualize the outfit. “Okay, fine. I think we can make it work. Keep the khakis on, but cuff them a little. And, here–” He steps forward, reaching for John’s shirt. His heart flutters at the touch, at Alex so close to him. If John just leans forward, they’ll be kissing again. Alex’s fingers brush against him as he slips the top few buttons undone. Smooths out the top of the shirt then steps back, admiring his work. “Yeah, that’ll do. Take down your hair too. It looks better down.”

John rolls his eyes and tries to cover up the way his face has started to flush at Alex’s words and the casual little touches as he leans down to cuff his pants. “So– you know a guy?”

“Yeah. A kid I was in a home with at one point. He works at a bar not too far from here. We don’t talk much, but I messaged him earlier and he said he could get us in. They don’t check IDs past the door, so we should be fine.”

“Ah.” John straightens up again, fluffing up his curls. Alex leans in and runs his fingers through them, shaking them out with an approving nod and a grin. “Did the two of you live together long?” 

He’s curious. After the disaster of a conversation earlier about foster families, he wasn’t expecting to hear that Alex was still in touch with anyone from that part of his life. 

“Nah. We only overlapped a month or two. He was about to age out of the system when I showed up. Pretty sure I was the replacement. For the check,” he clarifies when John shoots him a confused look. 

“Oh.”

Alex rolls his eyes at the awkwardly pitiful tone. “Whatever. Anyway, the guy feels some sort of sympathy or solidarity or whatever I guess. We connected on social media after he got out of there. Talk occasionally. We’ve hooked up a few times when he was back in the area.”

John nearly chokes. “Weren’t you guys like… foster brothers?” 

Alex smirks, that smug little twitch of his lips again. “Hardly. I barely knew him when he was at the home.” When John’s concerned stare doesn’t loosen up, Alex sighs. “Look, it’s really not a big deal.”

“Okay,” John allows, still a little guarded. To be honest it’s not _who_ Alex had sex with that’s bothering him. It’s the way he brings it up so casually. Just like the night before. Like it’s nothing more than a way to kill some time, a fun experience, a story for later. Is that all _he_ would have been if they’d gone through with it earlier? A story about that one guy from his gym who he had sex with? He runs a hand back restlessly through his hair. “You ready to go?” He suddenly understands Alex’s itch to get out of this hotel. 

“Um.” He glances up at John, tilts his head like he’s thinking about saying something else. But then– “Yeah. Sure.”

As they move for the door, Alex turns to him again. “Hey, can you front me the money for drinks tonight?”

“I’ll cover them,” John says with a shrug. “You don’t need to pay me back.”

“No really, I can get you the money. I’m just a little short right now.”

“ _Alex,_ ” he says more firmly. “I’ve got it. I’m team captain, I should really be paying anyway.”

“Mmm, alright,” Alex relents, bumping up just barely against John as they wait for the elevator, his fingers brushing up against John’s hip. “Thank you.”

John's face heats up, and he glances the other way, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Yeah. No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bendy boys are back 🥰
> 
> Please please please leave some comments down below! I love reading everyone's thoughts! ❤️
> 
> I'm on tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough and on insta @thatwouldbeeenough if you wanna chat!
> 
> Medal breakdown:  
> John- gold in all-around, vault, rings, and high bar; silver in floor, pommel horse, and parallel bars  
> Alex- gold in floor; silver in high bar; bronze in vault and all-around  
> Team got silver


	5. Chapter 5

The bar is crowded and dark and smells a little bit like stale beer and cigarette smoke, but hey, at least they had no problem getting in the door. As they wait for their drinks, Alex chats with the bartender– he had introduced himself as Rob, but Alex refers to him exclusively as Robby– the guy from his foster home. He’s leaning up against their side of the counter, one hand fidgeting with a napkin as he speaks. John doesn’t miss the way Rob has glanced down at that tight goddamn shirt clinging to Alex’s body more than a few times now. 

Alex doesn’t seem to notice. Just goes right on ahead catching him up on his high school graduation– valedictorian apparently, though he had never told _John_ that– and his move down south, his new apartment. The other guys from their gym are caught up in their own conversation about some video game or something. John’s aware that he’s hovering a little now. He _should_ go talk with his teammates, not just stand here listening in on Alex’s private conversation. 

He doesn’t. 

“So,” the guy asks, sliding Alex’s drink across the bar towards him. It looks good, something with some kind of fruit juice based on the color, and John sort of wishes he had ordered that too, rather than the heavy beer he’s been sipping. “You’re here for a competition?” 

Alex nods. “Mhmm. No more high school gyms for me. I’m moving up in the world.” He says the last part with a little sarcastic tinge to his voice, but his smile is all real. 

“Never had any doubt you would,” Rob laughs. “So, you win?”

That hint of bitterness flits across Alex’s face again for just a moment, but he covers it quickly with a grin. “I got a few medals.”

John takes another swig of his own beer– too bitter across his tongue– and breathes a quiet laugh. “He’s being modest” – _surprisingly–_ “he got gold on floor. And it was a big competition. A lot of really good gyms were there.”

Alex’s eyes slant in annoyance just briefly, but then he’s covering the expression again with something more friendly before John really has time to think about why. “Robby, you should have seen it,” he enthuses. “The place was fucking huge. There were camera crews and everything.”

“Can I stream it somewhere?”

John’s about to ask if he wants the link when Alex barks a laugh. “You’d be bored out of your mind watching that shit. What was it you said the one time you caught me watching a competition online back in New York? _It’s just the same shit over and over again?_ ” 

Rob breathes an awkward laugh and rubs at the back of his neck. “That was years ago. I was an ass back then. Just thought it’d be fun to see you in your element, that’s all.”

“Just wait for the Olympics,” Alex teases with a small smile. “Soon enough, you’ll be sick of seeing my face on TV.” 

* * *

John’s lost track of how many drinks everyone has had. _He’s_ only had two. He had checked the calories on the back of his second bottle and almost wanted to vomit. Is already doing the mental calculations of what he’ll have to cut out tomorrow to make up for it. But the rest of the guys are well on their way to being properly drunk as they sit around a booth in the corner of the bar. Alex’s knee keeps pressing against him, and he’d tell him to knock it off if he wasn’t worried about drawing attention to the action itself. It’s not like anyone else actually notices. 

Eventually, one of the guys gets up for another drink, and when he comes back to the table, he brings a couple of girls with him. John glares across the booth as he slides back in, but he just flashes a smile back and tosses him a wink. “These lovely ladies wanted to know if they could sit with us,” he says to the rest of the table. One of the girls sits down on their side of the booth, right next to Alex. They have to squish in a bit to make more room, and she’s _very_ close, her bare shoulder brushing against his. 

“You boys live around here?” she asks, sipping some sort of pink drink through a straw. 

John doesn’t miss the way Alex’s eyes drop to her lips. 

“Just in town for the night I’m afraid,” he says with an apologetic smile, shifting in her direction. John suddenly misses the pressure of Alex’s knee digging into his leg. 

“That’s too bad.” Her gaze slides down towards Alex’s chest, his arms, toned muscle easily visible where it peeks out from his sleeves. John realizes he’s staring now too. Shit. “You guys here for a modeling job or something?”

He wants to roll his eyes at the line, but Alex flashes her a grin and leans in a little closer. “Gymnastics competition actually.”

“No way!”

“No wonder you’re all ripped,” the other girl says with a laugh, leaning forward across the table. “Can you show us something?” 

Alex laughs and scoots out of the booth. “Yeah, sure,” he says, taking a few steps towards a more cleared out part of the bar and humoring them with a simple, though incredibly well controlled, handstand. His shirt is riding up a little, abs peeking out just barely, and he tosses the girls a wink as they laugh and clap. John actually _does_ roll his eyes this time. 

Alex drops back down to his feet carefully, putting more of the weight on his good side, and sits back down to take a long sip of his drink. “Sorry,” he says with a grin. “I’d show you something better, but I got actually injured at the competition today. Don’t want to push it.” 

“Oh my god, really?” the girl closer to him gushes. “Are you alright?”

John _really_ doesn’t want to listen to it anymore as Alex puts on that stupid, smug grin and tells them how _it’s fine I’ve had worse_ . John nudges his shoulder and motions for him to let him out of the booth, muttering _bathroom_ as he slides past. Alex’s eyes meet his for a brief second, and there’s a question there, his brows pulled down in concern. John doesn’t want to bother trying to figure out what he’s thinking right now. He’s got enough on his _own_ mind. 

It’s only once he’s in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, that he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. A text from Alex. _Hey, you okay?_

John huffs an irritated sigh– sure _now_ he’s paying attention to him– and responds before he can think too hard about it. _Yeah. Fucking fantastic. Thanks for asking._

He shoves his phone deep in his pocket and doesn’t check it when he feels another message come through, buzzing against his thigh. Just stares hard at his own reflection, noting the hint of red in his cheeks from the hot anger and frustration coursing through him, the image of Alex and that girl so close they were touching in the booth, half-formed images of the other night, Alex in some faceless girl’s hotel room, in her bed. _Fuck._ His heart is pounding too fast. 

_What the hell?_

He had thought– after everything that happened earlier in their hotel room– that he and Alex had come to a sort of understanding. That these awful, consuming feelings John had been having were _mutual_. 

Apparently not. 

_God_ , he’s such an idiot.

_Fuck._

John’s heart is beating too fast, the angry pulsing of his blood hot and uncomfortable, and it’s suddenly too warm in this damn bathroom. He looks around for a window, but there aren’t any. 

And he’s not just angry at the situation. He’s angry at _Alex_. Because this is supposed to be _John’s night_. He won the all-around. He should be _celebrating_ , not freaking out in the bathroom of some gross bar in downtown Boston. Just as he clenches one fist against the edge of the sink, the tension seeping into his posture, he hears a knock on the door. 

“Just a second.” He’s relieved to hear his voice come out steady considering how _unsteady_ he feels. 

“John? You in there?”

Alex. _Fuck._

“Just a second. I’m almost done.” He covers his face with his hands and takes a few deep breaths. _Fuck._ Breathe in. Breathe out. _Fuck fuck fuck._

When he glances back up at the mirror he looks… well not normal per se. His face is still flushed. Something in his eyes looks off. But nobody will notice that considering they’re all varying levels of drunk. When he opens the door, Alex is standing there, waiting, leaning against the wall. Looking stupidly good in his ridiculous tight shirt and jeans. John kind of hates him for it. 

He steps aside, motioning towards the bathroom. “It’s all yours.” 

Alex doesn’t go in, and he fixes John with a narrow-eyed stare. “Are you okay?”

“You asked that already.”

“Yeah, and you sent me _this_ ,” Alex says, waving his phone in front of John’s face. He squints at the screen. Sees Alex’s more recent response of _What the fuck John_. “What’s your fucking problem?” 

He huffs a frustrated sigh, running a hand back through his hair. If Alex doesn’t _get_ what the problem is with going from about-to-have-sex-on-a-hotel-bed with him to flirting with a girl at a bar _in front of him_ , then there’s really nothing he can do to help him. “Nothing, Alex. _I’m fine._ Just drop it.”

“Really?” Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, and his voice is sharp, cutting through the walls that John is trying so hard to keep up. “Because it doesn’t seem like _nothing_.” 

He glares, and when John doesn’t respond, Alex takes a step towards him, stumbling a little as he does. John reaches out to try to steady him as he winces in pain in his ankle, but Alex shakes him off with a growl of frustration. “I don’t fucking _get you_ , John. You won! You fucking won the all-around. Again. You should be on top of the world right now, but instead you’re over here acting all pissy for no good reason.”

“God _fucking_ damnit, Alex. Can you _please_ just leave it alone?”

“No, _I can’t_. Because I’m trying to fucking understand, and _I don’t_. So enlighten me for fuck’s sake. Why are you so _fucking_ miserable? Is being handed everything in life not _enough_ for you? Is _winning everything_ not enough for you? What the fuck do you need to be _happy_?”

John can’t untangle the web of his thoughts, too harsh and painful and bright as Alex keeps throwing verbal punches. He doesn’t want to think. And so he doesn’t. He leans in and kisses Alex– _hard–_ one hand coming up to the side of his face, tangling into his hair and holding on for dear life. 

Alex tenses, caught off guard, but after the initial shock he’s kissing back fiercely. _Like fire._ Alex’s mouth is all flames as it consumes him, hot and dangerous and _burning_. It’s not until John takes a step forward, attempting to back them up against the wall, that Alex breaks away with a curse as he stumbles. 

“Fuck, sorry. Ankle,” he mutters, leaning back against the wall again. He gives John a coy smile, as if inviting him back in, but now that the spell is broken John can’t stop his mind from thinking of the one hundred reasons that this is a terrible fucking idea. 

  1. _Someone could see_
  2. _Alex was just flirting with a girl_
  3. _Someone could see_
  4. _Alex is his team member_
  5. _Someone could see_



_… on and on and on..._

He takes a step back. Then another. Alex’s expression grows more concerned by the second, and he opens his mouth to say something but John never gets to hear it. He’s down the hall before he can convince himself to stay. Goes straight to the bar, closes out the tab, barely glancing at the obscene total as he adds the precalculated tip at the bottom and signs it, and then heads back to the hotel alone. 

* * *

Alex doesn’t come back to their room that night.

John tries not to think about _where_ Alex is, but he can’t help the way his mind wanders as he stares at the plain white paint of the ceiling. 

He gets a few hours of sleep in before he finally hears the keycard-activated lock on the door chime as Alex slips inside. 

John shoves himself upright blearily, blinking in half-awake confusion as Alex switches on the light and starts throwing his things back into his suitcase with a little too much aggression.

He has a million things he wants to say, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, “...what are you doing?” He squints across the room in the light, trying to get his vision to focus properly. 

“Packing.” 

Well. Duh. 

He watches as Alex continues to stomp around the room, throwing his phone charger on top of a messy pile of clothes. There’s a look on his face like his brain is overthinking _something_. John wishes he could read his mind, because he’s damn well not going to _ask him_. 

He eventually drags himself out of bed and starts packing as well. He has to get his stuff ready eventually. He would have gotten up in about twenty minutes anyway, so no use laying around now that he’s awake. 

As Alex finally zips his suitcase shut, he glares across the room where John is neatly folding his clothes. 

“What?”

“So, you got back okay last night then?” It sounds like an accusation, and John isn’t sure what to _do_ with that.

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s fucking great.”

John feels his brows pull together and _ouch._ _That_ hurts. Did Alex _want_ him to not make it back to their hotel? To get attacked while walking back drunk by himself? “Goddamnit Alex, what’s your _problem_? Can you stop being cryptic and just _tell me_? Because I’m getting real sick of these games.”

“ _You’re_ getting sick of these games? Are you _fucking_ kidding me, John?” He laughs, sharp and humorless. “I’m not the one who _kissed you and then ran off_ last night."

“Figured I should leave so you could go home with one of those girls like you were _obviously_ planning on. I didn’t want to stick around and watch.”

“What– Is _that_ what you were so pissed off over?”

John clenches his jaw, not appreciating the incredulous tone in Alex’s voice. How had he not _known_ that? “You have a good time then? Staying out all night?”

Alex glares at him. Shrugs. 

So that’s a _yes_ then. Confirmation that Alex went home with one of those girls. Of course. Not that John had any doubts. He came back wearing the same clothes from last night after all.

John hoists his suitcase up onto the bed and starts putting his clothes back inside in neat little piles, feeling the bitterness bubble high in his chest. “Well, glad _you_ had fun at least.” Because _John_ sure as hell didn’t, here alone all night while Alex was fucking around with strangers. 

He hears Alex drop down heavily onto the other bed, the mattress creaking as his weight settles on it. “I went back to Robby’s place,” he mutters. “I had a few more drinks after you left, and I didn’t really want to come back _here_ after you in-real-life-ghosted me. I was bitching to him about it up at the bar, and he said I could crash at his place once his shift was over.”

Oh. John keeps packing, unsure what to say to that. Goes over to the bathroom to gather up his toiletries, and when he comes back out and sees the frown on Alex’s face, a thought occurs to him. A vivid memory of what Alex had said yesterday and the way _Robby_ had been looking at him when he and Alex were talking at the bar. 

He probably shouldn’t ask, but the words slip out anyway. “Did the two of you…?”

Alex shrugs again, visibly uncomfortable. It’s so _different_ from how he usually talks about this type of stuff that John feels the corners of his lips pull tight in a frown. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me. Just curious.”

“Well _good_. Because it’s none of your damn business. Like I told you yesterday, we’re not a _family_. We’re not really even friends. And we don’t need to have a fucking discussion about this. I was out at Robby’s and I’m back now, that’s all you need to know.”

Except–

After his mistake at the competition, Alex had come back to the hotel with him. Opened up to him. Had listened when John told him they _needed_ each other. He hadn’t argued. He had let John kiss him and he had kissed John _back_. John had just assumed that meant Alex _agreed_ with him. That _he_ needed _John_ too, but–

“I need to shower,” Alex says suddenly, breaking John out of his thoughts. “But then I’m gonna go get breakfast before we leave. You coming, or is that too many calories for your ridiculous diet?” 

“Um.” John glances back down at his suitcase, but everything is packed and ready to go. There’s nothing to distract himself with as he looks back up at Alex and meets that sharp, impatient stare. “Sure. Thanks.”

* * *

It’s only after they’re down at the hotel dining area, seated at a table with a couple of their teammates, that John notices the bruises circling one of Alex’s wrists. The sleeve of his sweatshirt had ridden up a bit, and when Alex notices John’s eyes drift down to it, he self consciously tugs the sleeve back down. But not until after a brief, uncomfortable second of eye contact. 

When they’re back in their room, grabbing their belongings to head out, John doesn’t bring it up. After all, Alex had said _that’s all you need to know_. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, John isn’t going to pry the information out of him. If Alex wants to have secrets, that’s his business. It’s not like they’re _family_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh okay so I have a bonus chapter that goes along with this one. I'll be posting it as a stand alone work in a series with this one because it doesn't quite fit with the rest of it, but it's a good insight into Alex's world (it's Alex's POV), so be on the lookout for that in the next day or two! 
> 
> Please please leave some comments down below loves <3 
> 
> I really appreciate all of the love for these bendy boys! 
> 
> Come hang on tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough and on insta @thatwouldbeeenough


	6. Chapter 6

_“Goddammit!”_

John glances up from his locker. He’s used to Alex’s voice. Used to Alex’s outbursts when something doesn’t go his way. They spend too much time together at the gym for him to _not_ be used to all of that. So he’s not surprised when that’s exactly who he sees crossing the locker room in a huff to grab his things. 

It’s been a week since the competition. When they’re out in the gym with everyone else, they’re cordial, polite, even joke around a little. But they haven’t really spoken in private since they got back. It almost feels intentional, and John wonders if Alex has been avoiding him because of what happened. 

It’s as close to a confirmation as he’ll get when Alex’s eyes meet his– clearly not expecting anyone else to still be here this late– and they narrow just a little. 

He huffs a sigh and grabs his gym bag, yanking on a t-shirt. 

John steals himself. Takes a chance. They can’t keep dancing around each other forever if they’re going to be working together day after day. “What’s wrong?”

Alex turns to him sharp and sudden, and John is worried for a second that he’s stepped too far over this weird invisible line between them. He’s relieved when instead of snapping at him, Alex starts to vent instead, clearly in need of some sort of outlet for his frustrations. 

“Washington won’t let me do _shit_. My ankle feels _fine_. This is such bullshit. Nationals is so fucking close, I can’t afford to sit on my ass all day! The _doctor_ even fucking cleared me to go back to my usual training. _Fuck!_ ” He slams the locker door shut with a loud, metallic sounding bang. “There are going to be teams there way better than the teams at Boston. Washington _knows_ that. He should be helping me get ready to beat them, not telling me to _take it easy_ ,” he says in a bitter and horrible impersonation of their coach. 

John takes a deep breath, and tries not to regret what he’s about to do. “Washington normally leaves for the night around eight if everyone’s gone.” He feels his own heart beat faster at the implication, but it _is_ bullshit that Washington isn’t allowing Alex to practice at the level he needs to be practicing at. He can still remember Alex’s words in their hotel room back in Boston. _I don’t have time._ Maybe he can help him make up for some of that lost time. 

“The fuck does that matter? It’s not like he leaves the doors wide fucking open.”

John glances around, even though he knows they’re alone. Still. “My dad has a key.”

Alex raises a brow. “Of _course_ he does.”

When John flips him off, Alex lets out a delighted burst of laughter that makes John’s cheeks tingle and his stomach flip. “He helps out with the administrative stuff sometimes,” John defends halfheartedly. “Plus he’s donated a lot of money to this place.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Alex says with a roll of his eyes. “Why didn’t _I_ think of that? Just _buy_ myself access to the gym after hours.” When John frowns, he lets out a snort and shakes his head. “Hey I’m not _complaining_. So long as you’re going to use your rich boy powers for good and help me out.” 

“As long as you don’t mind me sticking around while you train.”

Alex shoots him a questioning look, but he seems curious, not upset. 

“I’m not going to let you in here and then leave you alone when you could easily break your neck.”

Alex shrugs with a small smile, zipping up his bag. “Yeah, okay. Fair.” Once he has it slung up on his shoulder he leans back against his locker, surveying John. “Your dad’s not going to freak out if you’re not home by a certain point?”

“I’m not under house arrest or something,” John tells him with a roll of his eyes. Though, really, Alex is fairly close to the mark. He _does_ have a strict curfew when it’s anything unrelated to his training or competitions. And breaking into the gym would hardly qualify as _training_ in his dad’s eyes. It’s fine though. He’s covered for Martha when she’s sneaked out in the past. It can’t be _that_ hard. 

“Okay cool. Can we start tonight then?”

John hesitates, suddenly unsure. It’s reckless. If they get caught… well he really doesn’t want to think about _that_. But he keeps remembering the way Alex’s voice had cracked when he was upset in Boston after the competition, the way his eyes had looked so sad yet so determined at the same time. “Yeah, tonight is fine. Just have to go home and eat dinner with the family first.”

Alex smirks. “Cute.” He adjusts his bag and takes a step closer to the door. “I’m sure your nice family meal will beat whatever leftovers I end up scrounging together.” 

“Do you want me to bring you a plate?”

Alex snorts. “I’m not a stray dog, John. You don’t need to put out food for me.”

He flushes, immediately flustered. “I didn’t mean–”

Alex interrupts him with a laugh. “I know you didn’t. Relax.” When he gets to the door, he holds it open, turning back to look over shoulder. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, my fridge is stocked. Unlike _some_ people, I don’t actually enjoy starving myself. Just too lazy to make something tonight.”

John frowns, lowering his voice as they walk through the main area of the gym, even though it’s mostly empty at this point. “I don’t _starve_ myself, Alex,” he insists. “It’s normal to stick to a diet at the elite level. We train so often, it’s important to give our bodies exactly what they need.”

“No less and _definitely_ no more, right?” 

He can feel his patience starting to wear thin. “Do I _look_ like I’m starving myself?” he snaps. “I’m _perfectly_ healthy. Don’t create problems where there aren’t any.”

Alex eyes him skeptically, but drops it. Instead– for whatever fucking reason– he says, “Twizzlers.”

“Uh– what?”

“If you _were_ to bring me food, I’d rather you bring Twizzlers than whatever Weight Watchers bullshit you’re having for dinner.”

John shakes his head with a soft, slightly forced laugh as they get to the doors. “Text me,” he says quickly, too aware of his dad waiting for him in the car right by the entrance. When Alex responds with a nod and a– stupidly pretty– smile, John throws him a quick wave and jogs over to the car, his heart beating fast with just the knowledge of their illicit plan. When he slides into the passenger seat, he doesn’t meet his dad’s eyes.

* * *

It’s easy enough to slide the key to the gym off his dad’s keyring. As always, it’s hung up right by the door. He has no reason to expect any of his kids would _want_ to steal one of his keys, after all. John waits for an opportune moment, just after dinner when his dad has already retired to the study upstairs, intent on getting some work done. He’s so caught up in making sure his _dad_ won’t see, that he doesn’t even stop to think about where his _siblings_ are at. He’s hanging the keys back on the hook when he hears a smug voice behind him. “Whatcha doin’, dumbass?”

He closes his eyes and slips the key to the gym into his pocket, hoping Martha didn’t see. Takes a deep breath and then turns around. “Hey, watch your language.” 

She rolls her eyes where she’s sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, staring up at John with a look that’s far too knowing for his tastes. “What’s in your pocket?”

“A twenty dollar bill if you keep your mouth shut.”

She grins wide, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “Fifty.”

John raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “Well now you’re getting nothing, and I’ll tell dad about that boy you snuck out to see last week if you utter a damn word.”

“God, you’re such a dick.” She pushes herself up from the bottom step, walking towards John with a smirk. “But yeah, fine, whatever. Your secret’s safe with me." She shoves her hands in her pockets, raising her brows at him. "So, where’re you going?” 

John considers for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek, but gives her the truth. “Back to the gym.” 

“Oh _god_ ,” she groans, shoving him on the arm. “Jack, that is the _worst_ thing I’ve ever heard. You couldn’t just be cool? Just this once? I thought maybe you were going to a party or something. Or a hookup. But you’re going _to the gym?_ ”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says with a fond smile. He thinks about telling her about the bar in Boston. Illegally drinking with the team. But, as much fun as it’d be to see the look on her face, he really doesn’t need to be giving his little sister any _ideas_. “Seriously, don’t tell dad though.”

“I won’t, I won’t, just– why the hell are you sneaking back into the gym?”

He sighs, glancing back towards the door. “I’m just helping out a friend with something.”

“Alex?”

John chokes a bit, turning back towards Martha quickly and coughing as he tries to speak. “What?” he gasps out, slightly raspy. 

“Alex. That’s his name right?” she asks, seeming unsure now. “The guy you roomed with in Boston? The new one?”

“Yeah, but why do you think it’s _him_ I’m helping?”

She shrugs, honestly seeming baffled by John’s reaction. “I don’t know. You’re not really that close with many of your teammates, but it seemed like you two were getting along well at the competition. He was good,” she adds, sounding genuinely impressed. “He won gold on floor, right?”

“Yeah.” John feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Bronze in the all-around. He’s amazing at vault too, even though he messed up in Boston. I didn’t really deserve first place for that one.”

Martha snorts. “Don’t let dad hear you say that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway,” he says awkwardly, trailing off as he looks up towards the stairs. “I should go get ready.”

“Alright.” She gives him a smirk as he walks past and calls after him quietly, “Have fun on your gym date.” 

He rolls his eyes as he starts up towards his room. She’s just _teasing_. And even if she _wasn’t_ , that’s not what this is about anyway. He’s just helping Alex out– as a teammate. Because he deserves as much of a shot as anyone else. 

* * *

Alex picks him up at eight thirty. John had realized after he was already back home that he had no way to sneak out with his _own_ car without getting caught, so he had texted Alex his address, told him if he wanted to go to the gym, he’d need a ride there. He’s waiting down on the street, parked at the end of John’s ridiculously long driveway. Luckily, his dad’s study faces the back of the house, the window overlooking the river and the gardens, so John doesn’t have to worry _too_ much about being seen as he hurries across the lawn and down the driveway. Alex has the window down, sitting in the driver seat of a worn looking car with a paint job that has surely seen better days. When John slips into the passenger seat, closing the door quietly even though they’re far enough from the house that he’s sure no one can hear, Alex raises an eyebrow and turns to him. “Does your house have a fucking _gate_ at the end of the driveway? Is that to keep the peasants out?” 

John doesn’t answer. Just rolls his eyes and buckles his seat belt. 

“Are there butlers inside too? Home movie theater? Bowling alley? A tennis court?”

“You want the key or not?”

Alex drops the jokes immediately. “Yes please.” 

John laughs, leans back and rolls down his own window as they pull away from the curb. “Can we stop at the store on the way? Just like a pharmacy or corner store or whatever. Need to pick something up real quick.”

“Sure.” Alex turns up the radio as they pull onto a main road and he speeds up a bit, the wind blowing loose strands of hair around his face as he absentmindedly mouths the words to the song, tapping out the rhythm on the steering wheel. “You know what’s bullshit?” he asks suddenly, catching John by surprise. 

“What?”

“That the girls get to do their floor routines to music and we don’t.”

John shoots him a skeptical look, but Alex’s eyes are fixed on the road. “You don’t want to do your floor to music. It’s girly.”

“First of all,” Alex says with overly dramatic emphasis. “Yes I do. Second of all, how the fuck is _music_ girly?”

“It’s not the _music_ that’s girly,” John clarifies. He can feel himself getting flustered, but he presses on. “It’s the… dancing. All the little stylistic components. If guys did all that it would look–”

“Gay?” 

John turns sharply to face him, feeling his face heat up, but Alex is still looking determinedly at the road, his expression neutral. “That’s not what I was going to say.” 

Alex hums a little noise. Surprisingly not judgmental. Just acknowledging. 

“I was just going to say it’d look weird. It’s not supposed to be about all of that, you know? It’s supposed to be about the skills.”

“Well, I think I’d look good shaking my hips a little,” Alex says with a shrug, a bit of a smile tugging at his lips now. “Plus, it draws more of an audience. There’s a reason the viewing numbers for the women’s competitions are so much higher than the men’s.”

John snorts. “I just assumed it had to do with the amount of ass they’re allowed to show.”

Alex lets out a surprised laugh, leaning forward towards the steering wheel a little as he grins. “I’ll go to Nationals without the shorts if you will. We can start a trend.”

“I don’t think USAG would approve,” John tells him, laughing, though he’s also _picturing it,_ and it’s not a bad mental image by any means. Alex, in just the tight spandex. Being able to see every line of his body while he performs. He takes a deep breath to refocus as he feels the heat starting to gather low in his stomach. _Definitely_ not the time. 

“Eh, they’d come around once they saw the ratings boost.” Alex slows down a little and pulls into a parking lot, mostly empty at this time of night. John throws him a confused look, still trying to get his mind off of Alex's ass. “You wanted to stop at the store right?” 

“Oh. Yeah.” He’s already fumbling for his buckle. “Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.” 

“No worries. I’ll be here.”

When John comes back out, he tosses a family size pack of Twizzlers into Alex’s lap with a grin. 

“Oh _hell_ yes,” he says excitedly, beaming. Rips open the package with his teeth, immediately biting into one of the Twizzlers. “You want one?” he asks, offering the bag. 

“Nah. I’m good. Just ate.”

 _“John_. I swear to fucking god. It’s _one_ Twizzler. Just eat it. It’s like half a calorie, don’t be–”

“Fine, I’ll eat it if you stop bitching,” he says, snatching one of them from the bag and taking a small bite to prove his point. 

Alex throws him a smug grin and pulls out of the parking lot again, popping the rest of his own into his mouth as he drives.

Fuck it tastes _good_. He hasn’t had sweets in so long, let alone something so sugary, bursting with overly concentrated artificial flavors. He takes more of a bite this time, savoring the taste on his tongue. 

“Thank you,” Alex says, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hmm?” 

“For the Twizzlers,” he says, clearly trying to sound casual, but there’s a bit of a self conscious edge. “You know, I was just joking earlier. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh.” John shrugs. “It’s fine. Just seemed like you could use a pick-me-up after the day you had.”

He watches Alex’s face closely, and feels that fluttering in his stomach again when he catches him starting to smile. 

“Are we good?” John asks suddenly, because it’s been a week. He wants to _know._ Wants to know where they stand and if they’re past this stupid avoidance thing. “I know we kind of left off in a weird place in Boston, but–”

“Yeah. We’re good.” Alex’s smile starts to falter now though, and he grips the wheel a little tighter. Neither of them speak the rest of the way. Just listen to the music on the radio in shared silence until Alex pulls into the empty parking lot. 

* * *

They’ve been at it for hours. John went through some of his routines a few times– figured he might as well, since he came all the way here– but for the most part he’s been watching Alex. Offering pointers, corrections. He’s actually surprised to find that Alex takes corrections well. Exceedingly well, really. John had figured he’d be more stubborn, insist that _he knew what he was doing_ , but when he offers feedback Alex soaks it up like a sponge, immediately begins applying it. 

He’s been on the high bar for a while now, trying to up the difficulty of his routine. 

“You’re releasing too early,” John tells him when he misses the bar and falls to the mat with a grunt yet again. 

Alex sighs and rolls over onto his side, throwing him a look. “Yeah, I know that. I don’t know _why._ That’s the problem. I can visualize it,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment as he speaks. “Can see the exact moment I need to let go. But when I actually go to _do it_ ,” he tells John, opening his eyes again and glaring at the ceiling. “It’s always early.”

“Here, go again,” John says, offering a hand and pulling Alex back up. “But wait for me to tell you when. Then release.”

Alex gives him a skeptical look, but nods, gets back up on the bar, and builds up to the move. He’s got the right speed, the right power for it. John watches carefully and when he hits just the right point, yells, “Now!” 

But Alex hesitates, then just swings around the bar once more before dropping back down to his feet with a groan, throwing his hands to the side in frustration. _“Fuck!”_

“Come on, go again.”

He does. They try again and again, but with John trying to guide him on the release, his timing only seems to be getting _worse_. After at least a dozen more attempts, Alex finally gives up with a huff. He sulks over towards his gym bag, right where he left it in the middle of the floor, and grabs some water. John follows, sitting down next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees and watching as Alex silently fumes. 

After a moment, he grabs the Twizzlers from his bag, biting one in half aggressively. 

“Why are you so intent on adding that skill in?” John asks, breaking the silence. “You won silver for high bar in Boston. Your routine is already solid.”

“It’s not enough for Nationals. Even _with_ the additions, the best I’ll do is bronze. There’s no way I’m beating you or Kinloch, but I’ve got a shot at bronze if I can get this skill down.”

John tries not to wince, hearing Francis’s name so casually on Alex’s tongue. After all, _Alex_ doesn’t know the history there– awkward fumbled touches during gymnastics camp when they were young, John’s first kiss, out by the lake, Francis coming back the next summer and acting like the whole thing hadn’t happened. 

“You don’t need to medal on high bar to get on the national team.”

Alex shoves the other half of the Twizzler in his mouth sullenly and flops backward onto the floor. “It’d help.” He rolls his shoulders back uncomfortably. “Fuck, I’m sore.”

“Of course you’re sore, Alex. You were still training all day, even if you had to hold back a bit. And now you’ve been working on that skill for over an hour now. Here, flip onto your stomach.”

Alex blinks up at him, confusion twisting his face. “What?” Now that he’s laying here, finally still, John can see just how tired he looks.

“I’ve messed up my shoulders from overtraining enough times to know how to work out the tense spots. Come on, Alex,” he insists, motioning with his hand for Alex to roll onto his stomach. “I’m not going to do anything skeevy.” 

He snorts a laugh, but finally listens, shifting onto his front with a groan. “Trust me, _you_ coming onto _me_ is the least of my worries. Just… surprised. That’s all.” 

John tries not to think too much into those words. He kneels over Alex, straddling his lower back. When he leans his weight down, he can feel himself pressing into the space where his spine starts to curve up towards his ass. He’s shirtless still, covered in a fine layer of sweat from hours of training, the muscles in his back strong and defined where John traces them with his eyes. _Fuck._

When he leans down and presses his thumbs into the tense area near his shoulder blades, kneading the muscles with small, circular movements, a low, satisfied moan slips out of Alex’s mouth. That noise brings back _vivid_ mental images. Memories of some of his more inappropriate dreams since the first time Alex had kissed him, and he has to take a steadying breath before he continues, but he already _knows_ he’ll be replaying that noise in his mind when he gets home tonight. 

He feels Alex relax underneath him in increments until his body is loose, and John can really work the knots from his shoulders and upper back. Even when he’s got the worst of it loosened up, he keeps going, letting his hands slip lower, massaging the muscles towards the center of his back with the same methodical movements. 

Alex hums a soft contented note. “You’re good at that,” he mumbles, half his face pressed into the mat underneath them. 

When John scooches down a little lower, moving his hands down towards his lower back, he ends up fully sitting on Alex’s ass, the muscles firm and strong underneath him. He wonders what it would be like to massage _there_ too. His fingers digging into that smooth flesh, Alex groaning under him, all pliant and relaxed and– 

He feels his body start to stir and immediately freezes, climbing off quickly as he starts to blush in embarrassment, bringing his knees back up and sitting down next to Alex, hoping he can’t see any of the evidence. Gym shorts don’t do much to _hide_ any of that unfortunately. 

Alex rolls to his side and blinks up at him, confused and a little sleepy looking. The expression just makes John want to kiss him even more. “Why’d you stop?”

“Uh, wrist cramp,” he lies. Luckily, Alex seems too tired to question it as he nods and lays his head back down. “You wanna head home?”

“No,” he insists, though his eyes are already closed again. “Just need a break. Not done yet.”

John smiles fondly, barely resisting the urge to reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “Come on, you can’t fall asleep here. We’d _both_ be screwed. We’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“Promise?” Alex asks, blinking his eyes open again and squinting a little. 

“Yeah, promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bendy boys! ❤️ 
> 
> Reminder that the bonus chapter from Alex's POV is posted as a separate work (part 2 of the "series"). Also reminder that it's a little rough and you should check the tags before deciding to read if you have triggers. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love 🥰 Looking forward to reading your comments! 
> 
> Come hang out on tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough


	7. Chapter 7

They do go back the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. It becomes routine. John sneaking out after dinner and his chores. Alex waiting for him at the end of the driveway. The two of them sneaking into the gym and training together for a few more hours. Alex is quickly improving, treating every night as the opportunity it is. And _John_ is getting better too. Alex’s hard work and determination pushes him, and he finds himself using their time together to practice harder skills as well, taking them to Washington once they’re solid and convincing him to add them into his routines. A full week of this has passed when John finally tells Alex, reluctantly, that he needs to skip a night. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells him quietly as they stand by the chalk together, Alex tightening the grips around his wrists. “I’ve got to wake up early for church tomorrow morning, and I’m fucking exhausted. You should have seen me _last_ Sunday after we stayed so late. I swear every time I had to _bow my head in prayer_ I was seconds away from falling asleep right there on my knees.”

Alex snorts a quiet laugh. “Why don’t you just skip? You’re not a kid. If you don’t want to go… don’t.”

John rolls his eyes. If only it were that easy. “Dad’s house, dad’s rules. We can stay again tomorrow night, just– I need some sleep so I can keep my eyes open through an hour long sermon or whatever fresh torture they have planned.”

“Alright,” Alex relents, but he sounds a little sad at the prospect of missing one of their nightly practices. It makes something in John’s gut clench painfully. And spending a whole night away from Alex _does_ sound a little lonely after the past week. 

“Do you want to come over?” he blurts out.

Alex blinks at him, confused. “Huh?”

“Do you want to come over to my place? After practice?” Oh god. He’s an _idiot_. And absolute idiot. It’s not like Alex is sad about not spending the night _with him._ He just wants to work on his new skills, not _hang out with John._ What in the world would possess him to even _ask–_

“Uh, your place? Like, with your dad and your family?”

 _Idiot._ “You’re right.” He breathes a short laugh. “Forget it.”

“No, no. I just mean– I don’t know. Is that allowed?”

Now _John’s_ confused. “Allowed? What do you mean? Of course it’s allowed. I’ve had guys from the team over to my house before. I’ll have to let dad know there’ll be an extra person coming for dinner but–”

“Hold up– dinner?”

“Yeah,” John says blankly. What the hell is Alex expecting? He’d be coming over right around dinnertime. “We wouldn’t make you go hungry…? If you’re coming over after practice you’d be there for dinner.”

“I mean.” Alex stands there for a moment, looking flustered. He stares down at himself, sweaty and covered in chalk dust. “I didn’t bring nicer clothes or anything. I was just expecting to go home.”

“You don’t need nice clothes, we’re not going out. As long as you plan on putting on a shirt before you leave, I’m sure it’ll be fine. If you want, I can lend you something to change into.”

“Uh.” He glances back up at John as he rubs his hands together to coat them both in the chalk, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, sure, I guess. Thanks.”

John tries to keep his expression more or less neutral, but he’s surprised Alex said yes. After all, he must have better things to do than hang out at John’s house on a Saturday night. Come to think of it, he’s pretty sure Alex hasn’t gone out at all since they got back from Boston. Huh. “Okay, cool. There were some videos I was kind of planning on watching, past meets with some of the guys who’ll be at Nationals. I wanted to, you know, scope out the competition, look for potential weaknesses. See what level of difficulty I’d really need to pull ahead. We could watch them together if you wanted?” 

The corner of Alex’s lip curls up now, just before he turns towards the bar. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.” 

* * *

Alex’s old car looks decidedly out of place parked next to the shiny Lexus at the top of the driveway. John’s dad had beat them home, so everyone else is already inside. It gives the two of them a moment of privacy as Alex takes in the huge front porch and the size of the grounds, the landscaping, the rose bushes lining the front of the house. “Damn, this is even more impressive up close,” he says. “I don’t see a tennis court though. What a shame.”

John rolls his eyes and shoves him on the shoulder with a grin as they head towards the door. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He watches Alex’s eyes go wide as they step inside, the grand staircase in the large, high-ceiling entryway the first thing he sees. His gaze flits from polished railings to large framed pictures hanging on the wall. Then he looks back down at himself, visibly self conscious in his sweatpants and t-shirt. “Yeah, I’m _definitely_ underdressed for this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re dressed the same, and my dad knows you just came from the gym.” He gives Alex a reassuring smile. “Dinner should be just about ready, hope you’re hungry.”

“Uh. Didn’t your dad _just_ get home? Are we having instant ramen or?”

John blinks, confused for a moment what _that_ has to do with anything before the realization hits. “Oh, no, dad doesn’t cook. The housekeeper makes dinner.”

“The–” Alex stops himself, shaking his head incredulously, then mutters, “Okay, yeah, that really shouldn’t surprise me, I guess.”

When they sit down to eat– both of them changed into clean sets of his clothes at Alex’s insistence– John feels a little twinge of embarrassment when they go to say grace. Alex glances up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure what to do. John clasps his hands and bows his head, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Alex follow suit while his dad recites the blessing. 

As they begin their meal, John suddenly wonders _what_ exactly he had been thinking when he invited Alex over. Because right now, seated at the dinner table with the rest of his family, all he can think about is the multiple occasions that the two of them have kissed. The way he can’t help staring when Alex does his routines at the gym, his legs and arms and ass all tight and perfectly toned as he works. The way he’s fantasized about touching that smooth skin when he lays alone in bed at night. The way he had been so close to _actually_ touching him like that in Boston. In their hotel room. Shit. 

This is _definitely_ a bad idea. 

He keeps his eyes firmly on his plate as he cuts up his salmon, afraid that if he looks at _Alex_ , all of those thoughts will be clear on his face for his entire family to see. 

“So, Alex, how is the ankle?” his dad asks, all casual politeness. 

“Oh, it’s feeling a lot better,” Alex answers around a bite, then quickly swallows as he seems to remember his manners. “Thank you for asking.”

“That’s good. It’s really too bad you’ve missed out on valuable training time, though I’m sure what you had prepared for Boston will do fine at Nationals. No one’s expecting you to medal this year anyway, what with you being new to the elite program and all.”

John throws his dad a sharp look because _rude_ , but Alex just shrugs, shifting the vegetables around his plate with his fork and looking unbothered. “I still have plenty of time left before the competition to increase my DOD.”

His dad hums, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Jack, you just added a new move to your first pass today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. The double back salto.”

He gives a proud smile, nods and takes a bite. “That should be enough to get you silver on floor if you can get it consistent.” 

John doesn’t respond, but his eyes shift sideways to catch Alex’s glance. Because if _he_ manages to convince Washington to let him do the backward quadruple full he’s been practicing, John will be lucky to grab bronze. His dad doesn’t know about that though, and he’s not about to invite an interrogation about why he _wouldn’t_ get silver on floor considering, for all anyone else knows, Alex hasn’t been working on any new skills the last couple of weeks. So he stays quiet and takes another bite of his broccoli. 

* * *

After dinner, John leads Alex through the house, up the stairs, relieved to be away from the prying eyes of the reset of his family.

“The _fuck_ is this?” Alex says, staring at a row of seats and the large, flatscreen TV taking up most of one wall.

John’s brow furrows, and he glances around helplessly with a little sweeping hand motion. “The media room?”

“The fuck is a _media room?_ ”

He runs a hand back through his curls, starting to feel embarrassed. “It’s like, a room where you watch TV and movies and stuff. It’s not _that_ uncommon.”

“This is rich people bullshit,” Alex says, but his tone is light and he flops down into one of the chairs anyway, already fiddling with the button to get it to recline. “ _Oh my god_ , wait,” he says, whipping his head back to look at John with a mischievous grin. “You actually _do_ have a goddamn movie theater in your house.”

“It’s not a _movie theater_ ,” he insists, but there’s no real strength to his defense there because it _is_ an entire room devoted to watching movies on a big screen. Oh god, it _is_ basically a movie theater. 

Alex snorts, but lets it go. Probably knows he’s won that argument without even trying. Bastard. “So, you ever watch porn in here?”

John nearly chokes, then blushes. Just the thought of doing that _here_ , where he’s sat with his entire family during movie nights, is enough to make him cringe. _“No.”_

“What a waste. It would be _life size_ , John! Imagine the possibilities!”

“Alex, that door doesn’t _lock_.”

He just shrugs, wriggling a little as he settles into his seat more comfortably. “The fear of getting caught is half the fun. It's a great adrenaline rush.”

“Not if it’s _my_ _dad_ who’s going to catch me. Gross. I wouldn’t be able to face him again. I’d have to move out.”

Alex grins, turning to his side and leaning one elbow on the armrest as John grabs the remote. “Might not be the worst thing for you,” he teases, dodging to the side as John goes to shove him in retaliation and he laughs. “So, you had some videos you wanted to watch?”

“Yeah,” he says, dropping down into the seat next to Alex, glad to be done with _that_ conversation. “Thought we could start with last year’s Nationals.Then there’s recent meets that our club didn’t go to. Just want to watch those for the top five or so guys, to see our competition.”

Turning towards him, Alex raises one eyebrow. “ _Our_ competition? You really think I could make the top five?”

“You’ve got a chance. As much of a chance as anyone.” He feels the smile spreading over his face of its own accord as he takes in Alex’s face, the way his lips twitch into the smallest smile at the vote of confidence. “You’ve got a chance for _gold_ on floor and vault, Alex.”

He laughs, surprisingly self conscious now that it’s just the two of them. “Maybe just against _you_ , but not at Nationals. There’s too much competition. I’d be ecstatic with silver even.” He closes his eyes for just a couple of seconds, and lets out a deep sigh. “As long as I make it in the top twelve. I just need to make it on the national team. That’s the first step. I’ll have time to prove myself later, but I need to get on the team to do that.”

“You will,” John insists. He’s more confident of that than he probably should be, but he’s never met someone so damn determined before. He can’t imagine making it on that team _without_ Alex by his side. “But first we have to strategize,” he says, pulling up the stream from last year’s National competition. 

“I feel like we should have popcorn or something,” Alex teases, rolling his face to the side to look at John. The movement brings their faces closer. Too close. John’s entire vision is just Alex’s eyes and his goddamn _lips_ , and he has to bite the inside of his own cheek to ground himself as he turns back towards the screen, fighting down the heat he feels rising to his face. 

“I _told you_ it’s not a movie theater.”

“Okay but seriously, do you have _any_ snacks? Not to be an ungrateful guest, but that dinner was… light,” he says pointedly. Then he licks his fucking lips, and John’s brain short circuits a little bit. 

“We have fruit,” he offers, his voice coming out a little strained.

Alex just groans and sinks further into his seat, thankfully pulling his face further away from John’s in the process, allowing him to regain some ability to think. “That’s not a _snack_. Ugh. John, this is dumb. Do you seriously not keep _any_ junk food in this big ass house?”

Well–

John pushes himself up with a sigh. “Just give me a minute.” Alex tosses him a confused look, but John just heads out the door, up to the third floor, and knocks twice on Martha’s door. 

“Go away.”

He snorts a laugh and opens the door anyway. 

Martha, lounging in the middle of her bed with her laptop propped up on her knees, glances up with a bored look. “What do you want?”

“I know you’ve got snacks hidden in here,” he says, blunt and right to the point. “Share?”

She glances up at him and breathes a short, disbelieving laugh. “ _You_ want some of my secret cookie stash?”

“Look,” he says, impatient. He doesn’t have _time_ for this right now. “Can you do me a favor just this once? Please?”

Martha gives him a knowing grin and waves a hand to her right. “Top drawer of my dresser. Underneath my socks. You better replace them though.”

“Uh, thanks.” He digs through the dresser and finds a pack of Oreos. “I’ll get you more tomorrow. Promise.”

“You don’t eat Oreos,” she says lightly. It’s not a question. “Those for Alex?”

He rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “Thank you, Martha.”

“Mhmm. Have fun down there. Use protection–” 

He closes her door before he has to hear the rest of that. She’s _teasing_. That’s all. It’s not as if anyone actually thinks there’s anything between him and Alex. 

When he gets back to the media room, Alex’s eyes are glued to the TV, intently watching the previous year’s national competition, one of the pommel horse routines up on the big screen. John tosses the Oreos into his lap, causing him to jump in surprise, and sits back down. 

Alex breaks into a wide grin. “Oh shit, thanks.” He rips open the package and twists a cookie open, licking the cream from inside. John knows he should be focusing on the screen, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Alex’s _tongue_. Alex’s eyes are back on the competition though. “He’s not competing this year, right?”

John glances back up to try and figure out who he’s even talking about. “Uh, no.” He swallows, trying to focus back in on the present. The reason they’re here. “No, he retired after last season. Got a career ending injury.”

Alex nods, eyes focused again as he twists another cookie open. John has to drag his gaze back to the screen with a little too much effort.

“Oh, Kinloch’s up,” Alex says.

John’s face twists into a grimace as he watches Francis approach the vault on the stream, as strong and sure and handsome as he remembers. But still, as he watches Francis up there, he _knows_ Alex can do better. Knows Alex _will_ do better. He has no doubt Alex can beat him. 

Alex licks the cream filling from another Oreo, and it’s almost too much, watching him do _that_ while Francis is up on the screen. There are too many weird, high strung emotions in John’s chest, and he sits up a little straighter, willing himself to focus. 

God, it’s _hard_.

They watch the competition for a good while, both of them interjecting commentary every now and again. It’s nice. Comfortable, even _if_ John is distracted by Alex’s _tongue_ far too often. Once they get through the important parts of last year’s national competition, John queues up some of the more recent meets. He points out areas where Alex could pull ahead of some of the others, and watches as he smiles, growing more confident with the praise and advice. 

“So,” Alex says suddenly while they watch someone else’s vault. “Is your dad going to be mad when you don’t get silver on floor?”

John winces. _Yes._ It’s something he’s been trying very hard _not_ to think about. “I mean, he’s not going to be happy about it, but–” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll keep working on it and see if I can up the difficulty more, but it’s not like you beating me on floor would be unsurprising after Boston. You’re _good,_ Alex. Anyone can see that.”

He turns his face away from the screen so they’re staring at each other again, Alex’s lips just a few inches from his own. “Good enough that your dad seemed relieved I haven’t been training as hard at the gym. I’m a little worried he’s going to break my ankle himself if he thinks I have a chance at beating you,” he says with a teasing smirk. When he breathes a quiet a laugh, John can feel the whoosh of air tickle his jaw. 

“Well yeah, that’s obviously why I invited you over. No witnesses here,” he jokes. “Really though, I can’t wait to watch whatever you manage to pull off at Nationals. You’re going to be amazing.”

“I hope so.”

John leans in, just slightly, and he thinks maybe he’ll actually do it. If he can just bridges that tiny gap, he could be kissing Alex again, right now. 

But then Alex turns back to the screen as the video switches over to parallel bars, and the moment is gone. 

It’s probably for the best. 

* * *

When John gets to the gym after church– exhausted because after Alex left he had been up half the night thinking about his lips and his distracting tongue– Alex is already there. Washington is standing nearby, watching carefully as he goes through his high bar routine and lands the dismount perfectly. As John passes by them to head towards the locker room, he hears Washington tell him that they’re going to try to work the cassina into his routine. It’s one of the moves Alex has been working on during their nights at the gym, and he’s not surprised, when he comes back out and starts stretching, to see him execute it pretty well on the first attempt. Washington has him run it again and again, and Alex manages it nearly every time. 

“Nice work, Hamilton,” Washington tells him as he steps off the mat. “It looks good. If you can get it one hundred percent consistent, you can add it in for Nationals. Now, go take a quick water break.”

As Alex jogs over to the side of the gym, John catches his eye, and he grins wide, teeth flashing. 

* * *

That night, Alex is waiting down at the end of his drive as per usual, and when John hops into the passenger seat, he’s grinning as he taps his fingers along to the beat on the radio, whistling to himself. 

“You’re in a good mood,” he points out as Alex pulls away from the curb. 

“Course I’m in a good mood. Washington is _finally_ letting me do shit again.” He turns up the volume as they turn onto the main road and rolls down the windows, the breeze catching in his hair. “You’ve seen my cassina. It’s gonna be fuckin flawless by the time we get to Nationals.”

He’s right of course. His high bar routine looks amazing. And now that he’s allowed to actually practice the routine for real, with their coach offering guidance, it will only get better. At this rate, he won’t need their extra nighttime training sessions much longer. 

John isn’t entirely sure why the thought puts a lead weight in his stomach.

* * *

It’s a good session. They both train hard– harder than they probably should considering neither of them have taken a day off in the last couple of weeks– but Nationals is right around the corner. John can feel the need for sleep creeping in on him, tugging at the corners of his mind, but he keeps going because Alex keeps going. That’s just how it is now– the two of them constantly pushing each other, building each other higher than they ever were on their own. 

But no one can keep going twenty four-seven, and they both start to burn out eventually. 

John goes down first, sitting on the mat for a drink of water, catching his breath. Alex flops down onto his back not long after, breathing heavy as he huffs a dramatic, exhausted sigh. They’re close, and when he rolls his head to the side to look up at John through those ridiculously long lashes, Alex’s nose almost brushes his thigh. 

“Did you seriously mean what you said yesterday?” he asks, worn out, but still with that intensity that blazes bright when it meets John’s own eyes. “That I’ve got a chance to rank _that high_ at Nationals?”

John breathes a quiet laugh, more incredulous than humorous, and finally gives into the desire to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Alex’s ear. “Of _course_ I mean it, Alex.” Alex subtly leans into his touch, even when he pulls his hand away. Leans his head right against John’s thigh, hair ticking against his bare skin. “You’re going to blow everyone away. Trust me.”

Alex’s brow furrows, and then he seems to catch himself, ducking his face lower towards John’s thigh to hide his expression. “It’s hard,” he says, slightly muffled, his breath warm. “Not just to trust _you_ , but... _anyone_. Like, I know I need to be part of the team and all that bullshit, but it’s fucking _hard_ sometimes.” 

John swallows hard, staring down at the side of his face, and what he can still see of Alex’s expression is self conscious and exhausted. “You can trust me, Alex.”

Alex huffs, sounding younger than he is in the quiet of the gym. “That’s what _everyone_ says. No one ever _admits_ they’re going to hurt you.” He shakes his head to himself in frustration and flips over onto his stomach with a groan, ducking his face into his folded arms. “Sorry, just tired,” he mutters sheepishly. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”

But John’s mind is still fixed on Alex’s words, and he wonders who hurt him so bad that he’s afraid of even _this_. Afraid of trusting someone to tell him how wonderful he really is. Whoever it was, if he could, John would go find them, make them sorry they ever even _knew_ Alex. Make them pay for the walls they forced him to put up. 

John stretches out on the mat next to him now, staring up at the ceiling, letting his muscles relax into the floor. “I couldn’t sleep either. Do you want to head out a little early? I don’t mind.”

When Alex turns his head, he seems surprised to find John’s face suddenly so close, his eyes wide as he blinks his vision into better focus. “No, I don't– uh, I’d just rather stay here for a while. If that’s alright.”

John’s face softens into an easy smile. “Yeah, of course.”

They’re both quiet for a long while, resting in the middle of the gym side by side, and John almost thinks Alex has fallen asleep when he asks, barely louder than a whisper, “Are you still mad at me? You know, for what happened in Boston?”

John’s mind blanks for a second while he tries to wrap his head around the question. “What?” It’s been _two weeks_ since Boston. They’ve been sneaking into the gym together for over a week now. He had invited Alex over to his _house_ yesterday. He almost _kissed him_ yesterday– well, not that Alex knows about that. He just always seems so self assured, John hadn't even bothered to think that Alex might have actually been _worried_ about how everything had gone down in Boston. “Alex, I’m not _mad_ at you,” he says with a note of disbelief. “I wasn’t even mad at you _then_.”

Alex huffs a strained laugh into his folded arms. “Oh, come on. You were at least a _little_ _bit_ mad.” He rolls over onto his back now, and the motion brings him close again, his head resting lightly against John’s shoulder, warm where their bodies are touching. “I was mad at you too, for the record.” He says it lightly, and John knows already that Alex isn’t upset with him anymore. 

He elbows Alex playfully in the side, and the action reminds him all at once that they’re both still shirtless, his elbow digging into bare skin stretched over tight muscle. He lifts his head up, just a fraction, to look at him– just a quick glance– but as soon as he does, Alex leans over and kisses him. 

John lets him.

It’s amazing how it manages to feel so _different_ every time they do this. Where the last few times there had been so much urgency or confusion or fear, now there just seems to be a question. Slow and hesitant. As if this is the first time they’re doing this rather than the fifth. Like Alex wants to make sure this is _okay_ , and John has never wanted to say _yes_ more in his life. He pushes himself up fully onto his side, answering back as best he can without using words. Parts his lips and lets Alex in, the two of them moving together in an intimate dance.

When Alex grabs one of his arms and tugs, John follows the pull, rolls over on top of him. Alex gets his knees to either side of him as he leans up, one hand reaching behind John’s head to keep him close, to keep their mouths firmly pressed together. Unlike before, there’s nothing to interrupt them now. No obligations, no place to be, no one waiting outside the door. Just him and Alex and an endless moment. 

“John,” Alex breathes softly as they stop for air, lips just an inch off his own. 

“Do you believe me now?” he asks, slight smile pulling at his lips. “That I’m not mad?”

Alex arches his hips up with a low groan. “I might need more convincing.”

John huffs a quiet, breathless laugh and presses their bodies together more firmly. When his hips brush against Alex’s, he can feel the hard nudge there, and his laugh quickly bites off into a moan, feeling his own body stirring to life. 

Alex gives a slow roll of his hips, pressing himself closer, and it’s all John can do to lean in and kiss him deep again to hold back any noises that would be truly embarrassing. Laying on top of Alex like this, he can feel every inch of warm skin against his own. Hard, lean muscle underneath his body, moving with him, strong and beautiful and so _so_ perfect. 

When Alex reaches for the waistband of his shorts, he almost lets him. 

_God_ he wants to let him.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, some tiny rational voice is insisting that _this_ isn’t the right place for this. For a handful of reasons. Besides the fact that if they get caught doing this _here_ it would be horrendous for both of them, Alex also just deserves _better_ than this. Fumbled touches in the middle of a gym, the smell of BO lingering no matter how often the place is cleaned. It’s not exactly romantic.

No, if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. 

He grabs Alex’s wrist to stop him, fingers just barely brushing the inside of his shorts. 

Alex flinches at the touch, but then relaxes as John moves his hand away gently, blinking up at him with hazy confusion. “Do you not want to–?”

John shakes his head quickly. “God, no. I mean, no, I _d_ o,” he says, fumbling to get the words out correctly and finding that he’s confusing even himself. “I _do_ want to, just…” He lifts his head up, glancing around at their surroundings again. “Not here.”

There’s something hard to read in Alex’s eyes. John thinks it’s maybe disappointment or frustration or sadness. But it’s hard to pin it down exactly, and none of those seem exactly right. 

“Okay,” he says softly, biting at his lip as he stares up at John. “You’re sure though? Because I don’t mind, really–”

John leans down and kisses him again to cut his rambling short. “I’m sure, Alex.” He rolls off of him, to make the point more clear, laying on his back again. “Do you want to, uh... keep training?” He winces after he says it, aware how awkward it sounds after everything that just happened. 

But Alex just breathes a quiet, almost content-sounding sigh and scooches closer, resting his head against John’s chest, his hair tickling the skin near John’s neck. “Just a minute.”

He can feel the soft inhale and exhale, the warmth on top of him, with each breath Alex takes. It feels right. John wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in more securely, letting him nuzzle in against his chest. He can hear Alex’s breathing starting to slow, getting deeper, and he thinks he should probably wake him up. But it’s nice and warm and John’s starting to feel exhaustion pull him down as well now. No harm in taking a quick nap before they get back to training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bendies! 
> 
> What's gonna happen next? Any guesses? 👀
> 
> Come hang on Tumblr @thatwouldbee-enough
> 
> Leave some comments down below 🥰


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